The Fall of Springfield
by Rei Sengoku
Summary: This is my take on a G.I. Joe origin story. Major Bludd moves in to establish a base of operations in Springfield. Stalker is imprisoned for failing to save Eugene DeCobray, and General Hawk is charged by General Flagg with creating a special team...
1. Chapter 00:  Prologue

Author's Note: This piece was inspired by the work "The Rise of Cobra" by Lord Leachim. I have wanted to write something new for the G.I. Joe fanverse after I failed to finish my other piece posted here, "New Divide". I've also wanted to see what it would be like to do my own version of a G.I. Joe origin piece, so here we are. It started out with some random thoughts about Major Bludd moving in to set up Springfield as Cobra's base of operations, and slowly started picking up steam to become the piece that it is starting to build up before you. I would like to point out that this piece will not be the same as Lord Leachim's work, although it begins with Stalker and his team, and involves Springfield in the plot. I can only hope that the author takes it perhaps as an homage to both the original G.I. Joe comics, and their work in how I write this piece.

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><p>Prologue:<p>

Location: The Middle East

Lonzo Wilkinson crouched low behind the broken remnants of a bombed out building. The crackling of automatic gunfire could be heard throughout the streets around him. He could only imagine whether or not the forces exchanging the fire were friendly, or opposing members of God only knew how many different factions at each others throats right now. All he knew at the moment is that he was running point while his men Snake and Tommy were somewhere behind him with the surviving VIP, one Anastasia DeCobray.

Wilkinson peered through the scope on his HK MP5, looking for any further combatants ahead of them. The entire mission so far was a SNAFU. The primary VIP, Eugene DeCobray had been gunned down by insurgents, and it was purely by luck that Snake had been near enough to knife the shooter before they could take out the girl as well. That wasn't the way that she saw it however, and she'd been making sure he and the others knew just what her thoughts were.

"Stalker, do you read over?" Wilkinson heard the helicopter pilot's voice over his headset. He paused and looked back to ensure the others were behind him before responding.

"I hear you Armbuster, what the hell happened to our air cover?"

"An insurgent RPG is what happened," Armbuster replied blandly. "They took out the primary EVAC unit, wounded and all. Looks like we're all that's left this go round."

"That's just fantastic," Wilkinson replied. "Snake and Tommy are coming up behind me with one VIP passenger. We are approximately one click East of the alternate extraction point. How soon can you get there?"

"UH 63 inbound, ETA less than five minutes. Pop smoke when you get there. Armbuster out." The line went dead and radio silence resumed.

Wilkinson looked back and caught sight of Snake running toward him with an unconscious Anastasia slung over his shoulders in a fireman carry. Tommy took up the rear, firing off short bursts of fire to cover their retreat. He didn't know what they had done to finally shut the woman up, but he was glad that they had. Probably one of those eerie Japanese ninja tricks Tommy mentioned his family knew.

"Now's the time for any of your famous plans, Stalker!" Tommy grabbed at his final frag grenade and pulled the pin. He waited for the surge of hostiles to come around the corner and slung the explosive in a high arc toward them. They ducked low, the grenade landing in the midst of them and went off with a loud bang. None of them dared stay long enough to see how many insurgents had been dealt with.

"You got her, Snake?" Wilkinson asked, the taller blonde man merely nodded. He reminded Wilkinson of the cult movie anti-hero Snake Plissken played by Kurt Russel. Always dressed in black, poker face and bad attitude. Though he was much quieter than his namesake ever was on film. Perhaps that was a good thing, however.

Snake drew his .45 and fired off a round behind Wilkinson's head, dropping another of the insurgents. A kukri clattered to the ground at the Sergeant's feet. The man really had a way with words sometimes, even when saying nothing at all. Wilkinson picked up the enemy weapon and stashed it away in his pack, a trophy of sorts for when he got back home. Tommy clapped him on the shoulder and urged him to keep going.

The familiar sound of helicopter rotors resounded overhead as the dark silhouette of a Blackhawk crested by what little remained of a mosque's tall tower. Sand and debris kicked up under heavy blowing gusts from the spinning rotors. Snake was the closest by now to the pickup, hoisting DeCobray into the waiting arms of the chopper's side gunner. Wilkinson broke through cover and reached the extraction point just as Snake started taking off back the other way.

Wilkinson turned his head to see Tommy go down, grabbing his side as enemy rounds lit him up. He went down to his knees, barely avoiding another round of fire kicking up dirt beside him. Snake lifted his M4 and let loose. Three of the insurgents on the outer edges of the pack dropped instantly, blood spilling freely from their bodies. Tommy crawled forward until finally Snake was close enough to grab his comrade and pull him along to the chopper.

The insurgents weren't finished yet, firing again they managed to hit Snake in his back but not before the two men could board the chopper with Wilkinson's help. Without needing command, Armbuster lifted off the Blackhawk and left the insurgents behind on the ground. The gunner returned to his station and persuaded them all to back off without further exchange of fire.

Now that the easy part was over, Snake buckled DeCobray in to her seat and Wilkinson went about fixing up Tommy's wounds. The man was a mystery how he could take so many bullets and keep on ticking, much less remain conscious enough to give Snake and the Sergeant a celebratory fist.

"Take your time Stalker, we've got plenty of it now." Tommy said, then closed his eyes.

That may have been so, but what about the others that had been sent in? Wilkinson wondered. Their unit alone has lost two, gunned down along with Eugene DeCobray before they could rendezvous with the others. The insurgent offensive had cost many more lives that day as well, he knew of at least two additional search and destroy teams that had been sent in for backup to keep the insurgents on their toes and off kilter long enough for his team to extract the DeCobrays.

Bloody businesses, war and humanitarianism. He understood why DeCobray had wanted to ensure the freedom fighters and noncoms were getting medical supplies, but he should have also known it wouldn't take long for insurgents to cut off those supply lines and use them for their own. Another good soul was lost today, just as a great deal of good men had been lost to their brothers in arms. Wilkinson dreaded having to write those letters home, because he knew no amount of "your son or daughter was a good soldier" would ever make the sacrifice easy to bear.

Snake silently nodded his head, as though he too knew what thoughts were going through the Sergeant's mind right now. It was scary sometimes how the man could do that.


	2. Chapter 01:  Arrival

Author's Note: This was originally the first chapter for the piece, and the entire reason I started writing it a few days ago. I've noticed that pretty much in every fan fic I've seen Major Bludd in, he is usually a second string character with minimal importance to the plot and mostly comic relief. While I can appreciate a good fool every once in a while, I'd like to see more for Bludd. In the comics from time to time he could be a bit more of a badass, and that kind of image is what I was hoping to provide for him here in this story. So, in this chapter I set up his purpose in the piece as well as provide some little hints to a back story that will be elaborated on as the piece continues. I hope that those reading this will enjoy it, and not hate it as too much of a deviation from the source material.

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><p>Chapter One:<p>

Location: Springfield USA

The Major shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the transport continued bouncing down the pockmarked roadway. He crossed his arms and glared over at the driver, wondering if it were the man's goal in life to make this mission fail. The driver merely responded with an even stare, his true emotions hidden behind oversized dark sunglasses. The Major sighed, propped one leg up on the dash and laid his head back hoping to grab a few more moments of sleep. They had been on the road for nearly two days departing from New York on their way to the Mid-Western United States. He hated the long journey, but it was soon to be at an end. Then the real mission would begin.

"ETA ten minutes, Major." the driver stated matter-of-factually. The Major was beginning to wonder what he could have done to have pissed this man off to make him so cold and distant. He wasn't a stranger to cold shoulders, or apathetic attitudes but it would make the task ahead that much simpler if the men would just obey without question or personal opinion.

"Yes jolly good Mate, now let me be just a few moments longer." he waved his hand dismissively and kept his eyes closed; not that he could really get any sleep for all of the bumps and jolts his hind quarters kept receiving from the seat. Deciding that rest was impossible, he opened his eyes and caught sight of the city limits. Directly ahead of them stood the massive green sign, "Welcome to Springfield" and below it, "Population 10,000". The Major wondered just how accurate that count would be by the end of the day.

In the side mirror he saw the long convoy of trucks following after him. Twelve unmarked, navy blue transport trucks filled to the max with equipment, and the troops necessary to take peaceful Springfield and rebuild it into a military stronghold. But first that would require sacrifice, voluntary and involuntary. The Major snatched the CB mic from the dash and started barking orders.

"Transports Two and Three, take up position around the schools. Transport Four, the local law enforcement is up to you. Five and Six, you are responsible for setting up roadblocks for all entrances and exits to this city. Transport Seven, it is to you I give the task of silencing our friends in the media. Everyone else, I want you on foot and gathering everyone up from on the streets. I want all civilians corralled up in the Springfield Stadium until further notice."

The Major watched as several of the transport vehicles broke out of formation and screeched tires embarking on one of the city's many side roads. He glanced up at the familiar skyline, hardly believing that he would ever set foot in this pissant town once again. It had been ten long, battle filled years since he had been here. He was sure that there would be the host of familiar faces, but would anyone there recognize him? All the better for them if they didn't.

The driver turned down past Our Lady of Consolation Catholic Church on States Street, which would then dead end at the Springfield City Hall parking lot. That was his objective. If you cut off the head of the beast, the rest would follow. The Mayor and his entourage would be in a meeting right about now, which just fine for the Major. He had a score to settle with the old bastard. A score that festered for over ten years, and part of the reason that this town had been finally chosen for this mission.

"Switch over to personal communications gear," the Major ordered, "and launch the FANG. I want all communications silenced ten minutes ago." A smirk twisted his face in an unnatural way. He felt the oddest temptation to twirl his mustache like Snidely Whiplash might have on the old cartoons of his youth. He shook his head, dismissing the notion and pushed open his door before the transport had come to a complete stop at City Hall.

"I want you to supervise the ground forces during the invasion," he shouted back at the driver, "and then you can set up your baby on the roof to protect against any _unwanted_ interruptions."

The rear gate of the transport suddenly burst open and ten tall, muscular men in navy blue uniforms exited the vehicle. They were armored in full riot gear, and helmets. What little of their face that remained unarmored was shielded from view by a red bandanna. Each man carried an AK74 rifle, HK MP5 and Glock 18 pistols at their side.

"Hello Gents, follow me if you will." The Major retrieved two Desert Eagle pistols from his leg holsters and proceeded toward the front door, which he kicked open and one of the ten soldiers behind him slung in a smoke grenade to blind the occupants inside. After the tell tale explosion, the Major and his troops moved in. Every break in the passageway the came across, one of the troops would depart in that direction leaving only the Major and one additional troop to seek out his primary target.

"That concludes the budget portion of this meeting," Mayor Donaldson said. His forehead itched from all of the sweating in the stuffy conference room. Why couldn't they hold these damned meetings outside in the fresh air? "Any new business to address, or can we conclude for today?"

"Sir, I think we need to examine the privatized education plan again. Something just doesn't add up right to me." Shelly Kessler answered. She swept a strand of red hair behind her ear and folded her hands together on the desk. "I understand that bringing in big business to _help_ finance public education would be a wonderful move, but I do not think that they should have complete control over it."

"While I agree with your sentiment Ms. Kessler, I must be frank. Arbco doesn't want a piece of the pie, they want in on the whole process. I have to go on record as saying that I do not agree with the idea either, but I also have to state that without the vast amount of funding they propose, we'd be lost against other more highly funded school districts."

From somewhere out in the hall gunfire could be heard. There were shouts followed by another burst of automatic rifle fire. Donaldson turned to look out the large conference room window to see several navy blue transport trucks pull up along side the building and dozens of men in what appeared to be SWAT uniforms jumping out of them.

"What is going on here?" Donaldson said, the city council around him exchanged nervous glances. Through the large window they could see countless men in riot gear moving through the streets opening fire on the citizenry and gunning down local police or anyone else who stood up to them with weaponry. From somewhere in the halls outside they could hear scattered bits of gunfire and then silence.

"Someone has to do something!" Shelly shouted, rising from her seat and diving for the phone at the center of the conference table. She lifted the receiver and started trying to dial 911. There was no dial tone, and dialing the number met with no results. She sank back into her seat, defeated. "The phones are dead."

Donaldson made a move to get up when suddenly the conference room door splintered open. The Major casually entered the room, glancing over it from one side to the other. He looked as though sizing everyone up at the table before turning back to the doorway. One of the men in riot gear appeared, weapon at the ready. The Major pointed at Shelly, "Take this one away for interrogation at a later time." The soldier saluted and did as ordered. Shelly screamed and struggled with the soldier every step of the way.

"Who the hell are you?" Donaldson asked with trembling voice.

"An avenging angel to right your wrongs, Mr. Mayor." The Major replied. "Ten years ago, you destroyed the only thing I valued in life and now I've come to repay your kindness."

Everyone looked surprised and fearfully at Donaldson. The Major raised one of his Desert Eagles and placed it right against the man's forehead. Tears poured out of the man's eyes before the Major pulled the trigger. His head evaporated in a cloud of blood as gray matter and bits of bone scattered across the room, covering all of those in attendance.

"The building is clear," one of the troopers entered the conference room and saluted.

"Excellent," the Major replied. He glanced over the remaining members of the city council, thinking over if any of them were worth saving. All they would do is politic behind his back and find ways to usurp his power. He turned to the trooper and tapped the man's shoulder. "Exterminate the lot of them."

The Major exited the room and started down the hallway before the screams could be silenced by gunfire. It really was a satisfying sound, and exceptionally more satisfying when it was the sound of your enemies.

"Major, local law enforcement has been brought under control." came the report over his headset, followed by "Major all entries and exits have been neutralized."

"Very good Mates, bloody good indeed." The Major stepped out into the fading daylight and took one last glance at the city as it was. A dead, boorish place with no future. That is, no future until his forces got hold of the city and could bring it to the forefront of the conflict ahead.

The Major strutted into Mayor Donaldson's office and flopped down in the plush office chair. It was amazingly comfortable to him after that cursed transport seat. He propped his feet up on the desk, reviewing the operation so far. Within seven hours of their arrival on site, the local populace had been quelled and relocated into the stadium for safe keeping and several small cleaning crews had arrived to address all of the collateral damages that his men had created while bringing down the city. Within the next several hours there was the VIP, Dr. Brian Bender, scheduled to arrive and work with turning the citizenry around.

The Major swept his legs across the desk, knocking all of Donaldson's personal affects to the floor. Several items shattered against the hard wood, including a framed picture of the ex-mayor and the beautiful Shelly Kessler.

"Major," the intercom on his desk asked. He leaned forward and pressed the response button.

"What is it mate?"

"Per your orders, we have rounded up Ms. Kessler and her son. We have them outside your office when you are ready for them."

"Ah, excellent. Bring them in." The Major released the intercom button. "This should prove interesting indeed." He rose from his seat and moved to the front of his desk, which he leaned back on. The door opened and Shelly was escorted in, her preteen son close behind. Once they were safely in his office, the trooper exited and closed the door behind him. Shelly took a step forward and a flash of recognition swept over her face.

"Sebastian? Is that you?" she put her arm behind her to keep the boy from being seen. "Sebastian, why are you doing this?"

The Major didn't respond, or react when she recalled his first name. It no longer held any meaning for him. Not even when it came from her lips.

"I heard about what you did to Brian Donaldson. The Bastard deserved it after what he did to Cassie, but why are you killing everyone? What is going on?" He still wouldn't answer her, and then she fell to her knees shambling toward him. He chuckled, remembering how many times she had been on her knees in a similar fashion before the child was born. She wrapped her arms around his leg. "What do you want?"

"The same thing I've always wanted, Ms. Kessler," he spoke the name as though it left a sour taste in his mouth. With a rapid motion of his leg, he kicked Shelly off of him and quickly moved to grab the child behind her. She moved in protest but the Major knocked her back with his arm.

"Fine, I'll do it for you but please let Billy go. He has no part in our history."

"That is where you're wrong, love. Dead wrong."

The Major turned his attention back to the child. Billy had one of his hands in his pockets, fumbling to grab something. At first the Major thought perhaps the boy was doing something freakish until his hand came suddenly flying out of the pocket and he felt a sharp, stabbing sensation in his right eye. The Major cried out, swung his arm wide and knocked Billy into the wall with a loud thud. The child's head lulled forward.

Shelly moved to get to her feet as the Major pulled the swiss army knife out of his eye. He could feel fluids draining over his face and dripping on to his uniform. Shelly tried to move past him, but he caught her and dragged her toward the desk. He threw her down so that her back rested on the hard wood desktop and pinned her there with his own body. The Major stole a kiss from Shelly before starting to separate her from her clothes. In the middle of the act, the Major hand cuffed her to a table leg on his desk and approached the son.

He grabbed Billy by the collar of his shirt and moved his head in really close. "Boy, you've cost me an eye. A mistake I will not take kindly to, however out of respect for your guts I won't kill you or your mother just yet." He dragged the unconscious boy back to the door and opened it. "Take this prisoner to a special holding area. I have plans for him." The trooper outside saluted and took Billy away.

"Now, where were we?" The Major asked, sliding his hand around to Shelly's backside...


	3. Chapter 02:  Recruitment

Author's Note: In order for me to write this chapter, I ended up having to restructure the original beginning of this piece. I ended up bumping what is now "Chapter One" back one space to insert the "Prologue" where Stalker and Snake are introduced. Now that the characters are in place, I could proceed with the plans I had for General Hawk in this chapter. Here I wanted to provide some links to the original comics role for General Hawk, and also pay homage to how he came to be the leader of the Joe team as well-hence the inclusion of General Flagg. I didn't want to make him seem like a hot shot soldier who didn't wanna call it quits, and I didn't want to make him downright depressed about his retirement. Hopefully here I found that medium edge for him.

Although I haven't mentioned it in previous Author's Notes, I'm interested in your thoughts on how I present everyone. I know with it being my own interpretation not everyone's idea of how a character should act will come true, but I'm always willing to listen to other people's thoughts if I've strayed too far from the mark or if they have suggestions for how to do something more interesting and better. As always, I hope you like the piece.

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><p>Chapter Two:<p>

Location: Washington D.C. USA

Mind numbing music played in the distance and the clock never seemed to move. Clayton Abernathy tapped his foot impatiently waiting for his moment in the spotlight so he could get it out of the way and get out of there in one piece. He understood that it was important for the military and it's leaders to project a strong presence for civilians, even the blood sucking media, but in all his years of service for the Red White and Blue he'd never had much patience for these political shindigs. It was even worse when tonight he was the guest of honor.

He glided through the crowd, weaving his way in between couples dancing and small groups drinking and conversing over the past in uniform. The past and uniform were about all Abernathy had in life, and after tonight's ceremonies he wouldn't even have that to fall back on. He dodged young intoxicated women crying out for attention and people attempting to strike up conversations. His goal was to get as close to that stage, while avoiding the speakers amplifying the awful noise they called music, and wait for his name to be called for the speech. Simple battle plan, at least in theory.

Not far from the stage he could see the open bar starting to close down for the night. Abernathy could recognize several Jugglers, the panel of generals in charge of clearing or grounding mission plans, were hanging on the side of the bar scrambling for one last drink. While he held respect for their rank and considerable power in the service, he despised those men. More than once he watched as they all but signed death certificates for friends and comrades in the field by denying search and rescue or reinforcements. They were too much politician and too little soldier for him to stomach.

Abernathy stepped up to the bar, keeping his distance from the others, and ordered himself a Coke. He'd considered getting something quite stronger, but decided against it. Even if tonight was all about handing in the keys for someone else, duty was rarely ever over when it was convenient. There was also that speech to think about, or rather a lack thereof. It wasn't that he didn't take the ceremony seriously, he just didn't see the point. Speeches were for rallying the troops, or boosting morale when the chips were down. They weren't meant to wipe and kiss the asses of politicians that held no personal stake in your future.

As he lifted his glass to drink, Abernathy felt a tapping on his shoulder. He set the glass down and turned around to find himself facing the combat seasoned face of General Flagg. "You'd better get that to go Abernathy, duty calls."

He quickly took another drink from the Coke and set the glass back down. It looked like he wasn't going to need to bother with that speech after all.

"We have a situation Hawk," Flagg opened the door of his limousine for Abernathy then entered the vehicle himself. The men moved toward the center of the massive passenger compartment where Abernathy noticed a small table had been erected with dossiers and interdepartmental memos scattered all over it. The general motioned for him to pick up the dossiers, each one stamped with big red letters declaring "Classified Top Secret" and "Eyes Only" below that. The first file he picked up belonged to an Army Ranger, Lonzo Wilkinson.

"What's the situation, Flagg? And why the codename? I haven't used that since before Iraq." He started reading through the file, noting the medals and commendations that the Sergeant had earned during his career. However that all ceased after a short stint in the Middle East only six months ago. There it was noted that Wilkinson had been named along with two others in the attempted assassination of a man named Eugene DeCobray and his sister, Anastasia. He was currently being held at Fort Carson.

"Bigger than you could imagine," Flagg responded. "The codename we'll get in to later. Right now, I need you to understand something. Wilkinson, and the other men under his command are being incarcerated for something that they did not do. Their commanding officer's arms were forced by the DeCobray family into taking action."

"What the hell happened?"

"Wilkinson and his team were detached to safely evacuate the young Baron and his sister out of harm's way after it was discovered they were being held hostage by the insurgents. However, during the operation, two of Wilkinson's men were killed by an unknown assailant while trying to protect the DeCobrays. The Baron was also shot and killed, however one of Wilkinson's men managed to intervene in time to save the Baron's younger sister. The assailant escaped, and the team managed to escape."

"Sounds like a successful operation, albeit minimally so." Abernathy held his chin as he flipped through Wilkinson's file some more. The US Army Rangers didn't fool around, and took each operation seriously. He could only imagine how the man felt about being locked away at Carson for this. "Why lock them up?"

"During their escape, one of the men had to incapacitate the sister. She took that as an personal attack against her and levied accusations that the team intentionally allowed her brother to be killed and ignored her wishes to bring his body back home with her. The family has a lot of power, and connections around the world Abernathy."

"Politics strike again," Abernathy growled and set Wilkinson's folder back on the table. He lifted the two remaining folders, one had no name listed or personal information whatsoever on the inside. The only thing showing was the image of a strong, blonde soldier that reminded him of classic film star James Arness. The final folder gave more information, but not enough to give Abernathy any idea about the man contained therein. Thomas Arasikage, a member of the Arashikage family in Japan. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Nothing." Flagg said. "The two extra folders simply do not exist, nor do the people contained within them. They vanished from Carson within weeks of their incarceration."

"And Wilkinson?"

"We're going to have a talk with the Sergeant, depending on your answer to my next question." Flagg sank back into his seat and folded his hands in his lap, letting Abernathy absorb all of the information. It didn't take long.

"You've pulled me out of a career funeral for this?" Abernathy said. "There is more to it than there appears, Flagg. You were never this cloak and dagger before, and I don't think that we're simply going to try and politically maneuver Lonzo Wilkinson out of an Army prison. What am I getting recruited in to?"

"I see your mind is as sharp as ever, Hawk." Flagg returned to the codename. "There has been an under radar movement in the past decade, after the events of September 11th, to create a special unit within the military. One that reports to no one but the brass on top, and remains hidden from the public spot light to avoid instances such as what Wilkinson has been caught up in."

Abernathy set the remaining folders back down on the table and turned to face Flagg. "I'm in."

"I thought you would be." Flagg smiled. "Now, let's go speak to our first recruit."


	4. Chapter 03: Installation

Author's Note: The long awaited third chapter to "The Fall of Springfield". I wanted to get back into the town and show off some of what was going on, more than just a list of character's scheduled to appear later. I had also wanted a chance to give Scrap Iron more of a chance to shine than just putting in that the driver back in chapter one wore dark sunglasses and hope that people would guess it was him. I don't remember much of what Scrap Iron did back in the series, but I do recall seeing one comic appearance where he was so loyal to Destro that he shot a Cobra trooper in the head when they tried to steal a Trouble Bubble before Destro could use it to escape, and then stayed behind himself to ensure his employer's safe departure.

One thing that I have noticed going back through the previous chapters is that they are over with rather quickly. By that I mean they're kind of short, and seem like they could have lots of more development done to them, in addition to a couple of logical errors I need to correct. I'm debating about whether or not to take some time coming up and rewrite those chapters, or wait and rewrite the entire piece once it has come to full fruition. If I take the latter option, I think I may have to put the revised piece together and offer it up online to download as a PDF, but we'll see what the future brings. Either way, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

Location: Springfield, USA.

"Three weeks down," Scrap Iron flipped his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose before arcing the welder once again. Several hours had passed since he started installing another wave of Mobile Missile Systems on the Springfield shopping mall rooftop. He'd already completed similar jobs the previous week over the Springfield Community College and Springfield High campuses. He let his mind wander as metal melded with metal, and a brilliant white light illuminated the M.A.R.S. logo on his equipment.

He remembered when the acquisition party had first arrived in Springfield, and Major Bludd had gone on his rampage. Something about the mercenary deeply disturbed him, though Scrap Iron couldn't quite find the right words to voice his displeasure. Regardless of his personal feelings regarding the Major and his mission, he was still a business man and had a contract to honor. The Military Armaments and Research Syndicate prided itself on both superior products, and superior personnel when it came to the production and installation of said products. On top of that, there was also the fact that he had been hand picked by James McCullen himself for this job; he had no intentions of letting the Scotsman down.

Footsteps approached Scrap Iron from the rear, he quickly drew his side arm and spun round to find one of the Major's _administrative__ aides_ cowering before him. He flipped the safety and returned the weapon to his holster before the young brunette could wet herself.

"Sir, the Major wants a status update on the installation process." Her voice was flat, devoid of expression or emotion. The sight of her left a sour taste in his mouth. He waved her off dismissively, stating he'd personally visit the good Major once the task was finished. With her programed task complete, she turned on her heels and vanished down a nearby set of stairs. Dr. Bender certainly lived up to his nickname: Mindbender.

Scrap Iron was no stranger to loyalty, in truth loyalty was the only thing keeping him here in the Godless streets of Springfield after Bludd took over. However, the kind of loyalty he truly understood was the kind that was earned, not programmed against the subject's will. Seemingly over night after the Doctor's arrival, the citizenry of Springfield started becoming his willing slaves and servants. There was only one person in the entire city that he could think of who was untouched by the brainwashing, and that was Shelly Kessler.

He finished up the welds, killed the torch and lifted his helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow. This was the last M.M.S. to be installed, sometime in the coming week additional materials were going to arrive from M.A.R.S. to begin work on a manned turret station, the Assault System Pod or A.S.P. as the company called it. Luckily, those would be mobile and require less strenuous measures to install. Scrap Iron gathered his tools and started toward the star case.

Once inside he whipped out a cell phone from his vest pocket and dialed a private number known only to himself, and perhaps four other living souls on the planet. The phone was also equipped with scrambling software to prevent the number from being withdrawn from the call logs through any means. It rang twice before being answered with a thick, Scottish accent.

"Status report Scrap Iron," McCullen said. The man was a no nonsense type, and Scrap Iron was thankful he didn't have to go through the normal pleasantries with him. In the background he could hear several other voices discussing pricing and options for one of M.A.R.S.'s defense contract packages.

"The final M.M.S. module has been installed, I'm waiting for the A.S.P. shipment to arrive now." The thought had occurred to ask McCullen why he was taking such a personal interest in how this Springfield exercise was going, but he already knew that answer. Whoever was funding the project, funding that lunatic Bludd, was depositing rather expansive amounts of money into the company's Research and Development funds, as well as paying well beyond the rather steep list prices for the weaponry purchased thus far.

"Wonderful, you've always done me proud Scrap Iron. Which is why I have another important job for you." There was an audible beep from on Scrap Iron's belt, which prompted him to reach for his PDA. On the screen flashed the words _Download__Waiting_, and _Approve_ or _Reject_ beneath it. He pressed the approval button and watched as the screen flashed rapid images of blueprints, dossiers, work orders and more importantly invoices for additional gear.

"What's this?" Scrap Iron asked. He recognized some of the designs as his own from several years ago, from a project he and McCullen had been batting around back and forth about a self contained fortress on demand.

"The, ahem, Client you're currently serving has made a request. They want us to take the existing structure of the Springfield Stadium, and convert it into what you have before you." McCullen paused for a moment, Scrap Iron heard his employer's quick laughter in response to the other party's primitive joke. The things that McCullen had to do for his Clan's legacy.

"Project Terrordrome?" Scrap Iron shook his head. It sounded too much like another entry in the old Mad Max franchise. Beyond Thunderdome lies Terrordrome, complete with Madonna and Ziggy Stardust as the chiefs of state. "You're kidding me."

"I'm afraid not, however I know you'll fulfill the client's work order, and surpass it to meet your own personal standards as always."

"But of course, Mr. McCullen."

"Excellent, then I leave you to your work." The line went dead, Scrap Iron jammed the phone back into it's concealed pocket on his vest and went back to his work. He dropped the equipment off on the maintenance truck parked outside of the Mall's East entrance and got behind the wheel to drive over to the Mayor's office, Major Bludd's new base of operations.

The Major looked over reports coming in from all over Springfield. Doctor Bender had provided the latest intelligence on his brainwashing techniques with the people of the town. After several of the original test subjects had been subjected to the treatment, their will power had been able to overcome and reject the programming. The strongest of these subjects was imprisoned, and the others were summarily shot and disposed of. There was no need to keep them around while waiting for the process to be perfected. There were more than enough people in this town to be used as soldiers for the cause, as well as camouflage in case anyone happened to be on their way through.

He set Bender's report aside and glanced across the room to where Shelly Kessler sat in the corner, head bowed and eyes closed. Bludd never understood why she prayed, it was obvious those prayers were never getting answered. He was still alive and well, her son was still under the careful observation of Doctor Bender and an elite guard. Even at preteen age, that damned brat was quite skilled and resilient. She wore one of her blue business suits, refusing to give up some semblance of her normal life he supposed. The collar was unbuttoned low enough to provide Bludd with plenty of eye candy to distract him throughout the day, when she allowed it.

"Too bad," Bludd said, "we could have much more if you'd only join me Milady."

A sudden rapping at the door broke Bludd's concentration of the woman and forced him to look at the large threshold. He rose from his seat and opened the door, revealing Scrap Iron standing there with his arms folded behind his back and gaze set somewhere near the ceiling of his office. He still wore those dark sunglasses, just like the day they had met back in New York before traveling out to this hellhole. "Come in, come in Scrap Iron. I've been waiting for you."

Scrap Iron didn't move but enough to catch a glimpse of Shelly Kessler huddled in the corner. He turned his attention back to the ceiling, but did not enter the office. Whatever the Major was doing in there was his own concern, and nothing that he wanted to get dragged in to. "The final M.M.S. has been installed."

"Good." Bludd said, rubbing his chin.

"I've also received updated plans for another project within the city. Work will commence as soon as the materials arrive this weekend." He held his pose, crisp and clean military attention. It wasn't clear if Bludd liked it, or hated it but Scrap Iron knew that it irked the Major enough that he hadn't dared go inside the office when invited.

"Ah yes, I remember that now. Jolly good then chap, then go and take the rest of your day off. I've other more important things to do than banter all day." Bludd waved him off. Scrap Iron didn't offer a word, simply turned on his heels and departed in silence.


	5. Chapter 04:  Remanded

Author's Note: Here is the long awaited (well maybe not) fourth chapter of the story. Here we get a chance to see a little bit more of Stalker, as well as a couple cameos of other Joes. I'd like to mention while I have your attention that this or the next chapter might be my last update for about a month. The reason being that I've finally decided that I want to go back and change a few things in my plans for this piece-nothing major-which would also need some retouches on the first few chapters that are posted already. I have also noticed some logical errors on my part that I would like to fix and address while doing that editing process. Also, in this chapter I have moved Stalker to Fort Hama (named so after Larry Hama) instead of Fort Carson, I like the idea of setting up locals the way I see them instead of having to worry about factual errors that might turn people off from the story.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Chapter Four:<p>

Location: Fort Hama

Hawk hated riding in limousines, they always seemed to the passenger appear much more important than they really were. He didn't see himself in any important light back when he was a general, and he sure didn't see anything more important in his life than there was before. What was the point of Flagg dragging him around in this expensive piece of luxury when any kind of standard sports car or sedan would have done nicely. Limousines cried out for attention, not discretion.

He studied his own face reflected in the dark windows. He looked older somehow, twenty years of service had ways of making you look and feel aged sure, but not like you were just getting ready to jump over the hill. A crease formed at his brow line as he continued pondering this new assignment. Flagg hadn't been too free with all of the details as of yet, but he promised that they would be forthcoming soon enough. The important thing however, was to begin getting the team assembled; starting with Lonzo Wilkinson.

The limousine turned into a large entrance gate and stopped beside the security checkpoint. Flagg lowered his window so that the posted guard could approach and check their credentials in true standard operating procedure. He was young, barely old enough to shave in Hawk's opinion, and looked like he was about to faint when he discovered who the two visiting generals were. His eyes lit up and he rattled off a series of questions, which Flagg patiently answered while nudging the guard to allow them access.

When Flagg rolled up the window an exasperated look came over his face, and Hawk could only smile as the older general shook his head. He picked up Wilkinson's dossier and flipped back through it, still trying to get a sense of the man they had come to see. Hawk couldn't imagine what it must have been like sitting behind bars over political maneuvering and saving of face instead of justice. Hopefully however, today he and Flagg would be able to salvage the man's career and save him from rotting away in Hama's brig for the rest of his life.

The barrier lifted and they pulled forward inside of Camp Hama. Immediately Hawk could see squads of men in fatigues running before Drill Sergeants chanting old familiar rhymes and songs. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago that he had gone through such a process himself. Flagg motioned for the driver to pull off somewhere nearby the Mess Hall and park. There they would meet their guide around camp, First Sergeant Conrad Hauser.

Hawk exited the limousine first, holding the door open for Flagg to follow after. Once the two men were out, they brushed their uniforms and scanned the area to find Hauser standing outside the Mess Hall as promised. The sergeant moved down the steps and made his way over to the pair of generals with a broad smile and cleft chin. At first Hawk thought Hauser might have been one of the pretty boy types that joined up just for the uniform with short, slicked back hair and calm demeanor. However the man's file said otherwise, and more importantly Flagg trusted the man as well.

"Good afternoon General Flagg, it's an honor to meet you in person." Hauser said, shaking hands. Flagg nodded his head in agreement and motioned over to Hawk. "But not as much of a pleasure as meeting you, General Abernathy. I joined up because of you."

"Thanks, Sergeant Hauser." Hawk replied, not sure what else to say. It wasn't unusual to hear men profess they had joined the service because he, or someone else like him, had created some sort of glory dreams in the minds of younger men. Something about this time was different however.

"Call me Duke, everyone else does." Hauser laughed and offered up his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. "But I'm afraid now isn't the time for pleasantries, is it General Flagg?" Duke lowered his arms to his sides, resting them on his belt as he fixed a stare on both men.

"I'm afraid it's not, Duke." Flagg answered.

"Well then follow me, and I'll lead you to Stalker." Duke turned and led them away from the Mess Hall and down through a courtyard. Another group of men jogged past, however this group in particular was less jovial about their experience. Behind them, one of the Drill Sergeants followed after—and quite often ran out in front of them—pushing them harder. He was shouting "With your shield, or on it!" as they passed.

"There goes Sneeden," Duke chuckled. That particular Ranger was always tougher on the troops under his command, though by the end of the day those same troops were the first to thank the man personally. "After a while he starts to make R. Lee Ermy look like a grade school nurse."

Flagg nodded, filing that information away while Hawk showed signs of being mildly impressed on his face. Not every man derserved the Full Metal Jacket stereotype thrust upon them, even if this was the Army and not the Marine Corps. Duke led them down through another wide courtyard and motioned to a large, three story glass building with a large clock built into it. It was the on base courthouse. It would appear that the generals had come at just the right time to assist Sergeant Wilkinson after all.

"Will the defendant, Sergeant Lonzo Wilkinson please stand." the judge's deep voice echoed throughout the courtroom. Wilkinson could hear several people clearing their throats in the background, he could almost picture the look of aboslute boredom on their faces as well. He couldn't blame them, court wasn't exactly his idea of a good time whether he was required to be there or not.

"I would like to remind you, son, that this is your last chance to reduce your sentence by cooperating with Army authorities. Am I to understand that you are unwilling to cooperate? Even though it guarantees that you will continue to rot away in a prison cell?" Wilkinson felt an acidic bite in the Judge's words, were loyalty and leadership really that hard of a thing for the man to consider?

"Yes your honor." Wilkinson bowed his head, for theatrics if nothing else. He knew the entire process today was going to be for nothing but show. They had no intention of letting him go, early or otherwise, they just wanted to find Snake and Tommy. He wasn't about to give that information up, even if it meant he would stay behind bars that much longer. Times like these were what faith was meant for. "I owe those men my life, and I will not betray them to save my own hide."

That got the courtroom talking. There were some who couldn't believe he would dare accuse the court of asking him to sell out. Others that were applauding his courage and fortitude. And others still that wore mixed expressions as though they couldn't form their own opinion one way or the other. He smirked.

"However, your honor I do find my current accomodations quite comfortable. Perhaps I may retain them for the rest of my stay with the fine folks here at Fort Hama?" If his previous comments incited a reaction from the crowd, this had hardly able to contain themselves. Wilkinson was damned in this court from the get go, why not at least have a little fun before they stuck him back in the cage again.

"Very well then Sergeant, if that is how you feel then this court has no alternative but to adhere to the original sentence of ten years imprisonment. It's a pity, really, that such a fine soldier as yourself would have to remain behind bars during the best years of his life."

The main courtroom doors opened with an obnoxious groan and everyone in attendance turned to discover why. One of the outside guard held open the door and granted entry to three men. The first among them was Sergeant Conrad Hauser followed by two men that Wilkinson had only seen in passing while reading the newspapers on base. General Flagg and General Abernathy. What were they doing here?

"Your honor," Flagg approached the bench and waved a piece of paper before the Judge. "If you would permit, I have documentation that requires your immediate attention concerning Sergeant Wilkinson." The Judge arched a brow and motioned for the bailiff to retrieve the documentation and hand it to him.

"What have you brought for me, General Flagg?"

"Orders remanding the Sergeant to the care of General Abernathy and myself." The Judge looked surprised, but not nearly as shocked as Wilkinson himself must have appeared at that very moment. After reading the documentation quite thoroughly, the Judge stood and announced that the proceedings were concluded. That as per orders of his own superiors, General Lonzo Wilkinson was to be remanded to the custody of Generals Flagg and Abernathy for the remainder of his term.

The Judge descended from his seat and vanished into his chambers as the wittnesses and other spectators exited the courtroom. General Flagg approached Wilkinson and removed his hat before shaking hands. "Welcome aboard Sergeant Lonzo Wilkinson, or should I call you Stalker?"


	6. Chapter 05:  Intelligence

Author's Note: Firstly, I would like to thank anyone who is reading the story this far. I've noticed that two readers have added the story to their Story Watch, and I really appreciate it. I would also like to thank those of you who leave reviews because it helps me decide just what I'm doing right, or wrong, in the piece so I can improve and build upon it later. I will take this opportunity to also say that I wrote out a complete action plan for the story, basically outlining each planned chapter with a sentence or so summary. That outline (which is for the revised version where I go back and dress up the first couple of chapters) wound up being 34 chapters long! So you can expect to see a lot more of this piece in the near future!

I've finalized who I want in the piece for my team(s) and what roles they have to play later on. So stay tuned for all of that jazz as well. For now, enjoy the new chapter and of course please leave comments and reviews.

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><p>Chapter Five:<p>

Location: The Pentagon

Shana O'Hara stood silently outside of the Director's office, patiently waiting for the right moment to walk inside and share her intelligence. Only minutes before she had received an update from their sleeper agent, codename Faces, inside of the upstart militant group out of the Midwest. The things contained within his report were shocking to say the very least, particularly about the group's supposed leader Sebastian Bludd. The man was a butcher, and a lunatic and O'Hara was sure that the entire story wasn't present in the report either.

The Director waved her inside after hanging up his phone. He folded his hands together on top of his desk and nodded his head in greeting, "What do you have for me O'Hara?"

"The latest report from Faces, Sir." she slid the printed report before the Director and took a seat directly across from him. It had been quite the page turner, even for well over twenty double sided pages. She thought there had been enough information in the document that would light a fire under the Director's hindquarters and make him send someone out to investigate. He picked up the report and flipped through the first couple of pages, his face never showing a hint of concern.

"It appears that this Bludd character has quite the army," the Director said. "However, all that I see here is that Faces is building up enough information for a case for the ATF once the group has pulled something. Establishing training grounds and drilling troops is hardly illegal, O'Hara. If it were, all of those survivalist nuts across the nation would be hauled in and thrown on their ass in a cell."

"Sir, if I might disagree. This is far beyond survivalist training. That is only the beginning, I assure you. Bludd has a record with Interpol and other global law enforcement agencies just as long as my arm. That alone should be enough cause to act!"

"O'Hara, you're getting out of line. Orders from on top say that we have nothing to act on until we see him doing something glaringly obvious that we can arrest him for. His presence is only enough to warrant what we already have, Agent Faces in place. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a phone conference in twenty minutes and you have more work to do."

O'Hara resisted the urge to jump across her superior's desk and deck him, hard. She collected copy of the report and exited the office quietly, though under her breath she was cursing the Director's name in every language she could remember. She passed through cubicle hell as she came to refer to her division and slumped down heavily in her chair, causing it to spin in a slow circle.

Today was turning out to be one of the most difficult days she had ever faced in her entire military career. She exhaled heavily, glancing at a picture of her father and brothers setting on the desk before her. She missed them, her father most of all. It had been ten years since she last saw him alive and well before boarding a plane to New York in early September 2001. She used to joke with him about how one day that sight seeing would get him into trouble; in the end she was proven right.

What was the use of gathering intelligence if the brass on top was just going to write it off and ignore her anyway. How else did they think things like Pearl Harbor or September eleventh happened in the first place? She groaned and pulled her chair in close to the desk before powering on her personal computer. She would just have to go back to the drawing board it seemed. As the computer screen came back to life, O'Hara noticed that she had a new message. It had come in while she was in the Director's office, and it was once again from Agent Faces. She clicked on the message.

O'Hara,

While looking into other matters here in Springfield, I overheard Bludd talking about legal matters and how his lawyers at Extensive Enterprises were going to ensure he wouldn't be interrupted while continuing his work. If that is true, it is possible that your Director will have his hands tied by legal negotiating or even a little extra stipend in his pay grade. I'm afraid that there may be no one we can trust inside the Pentagon, however there is one man I know you can go to in safety: General Flagg.

Faces.

O'Hara looked over her shoulders cautiously, printed a hard copy of the message at her desk and then deleted the original. If what Faces said was right, then it was possible that having that message could land her in some deep trouble with the Director or even his superiors. She quickly gathered all hard data she had relevant to the Springfield case, put it inside an interdepartmental document transfer folder and left her desk behind. She had met General Flagg once before, and if Faces trusted the man then he would be worth seeking out once again.

She boarded an elevator, took it down to the basement level. What seemed like an hour later the doors opened and she made her way toward the motor pool. There, she signed out one of the Hummers with the desk clerk and snatched the keys away from the wall. After opening the door, she threw the documentation on the passenger seat beside her, pulled her cell phone out of the dress jacket she wore and sought out the message from Faces that told her what number to call to reach General Flagg.

O'Hara parked the Hummer near the Lincoln Memorial and pulled the keys. She dropped them down inside of the attache case with the Springfield documents and climbed out of the vehicle. Flagg's instructions were specific, to meet him at the feet of the memorial at 1600 hours, and to come alone. She took a deep breath while walking toward the memorial, she had always liked reading Robert Ludlum books, but now she felt as though she were living through one and it wasn't as comforting. All sorts of thoughts were running through her head, thoughts that this could be a set up or that Flagg was in on it too and that all she would get for her troubles was a court martial.

She glanced at her watch, 1550 hours, and there was already a man standing there at Lincoln's feet. He wasn't a big man, actually he seemed rather relaxed and average as far as bodies went. He wore dress greens, and a General's cap. However it wasn't Flagg standing there. It was another man, many years younger than Flagg, but also several years older than herself. She passed him entering the memorial and stood where directed. It could be a coincidence that she and another general decided to visit the memorial at the same time, and it may not be. Either way she wasn't going to volunteer why she was here without some kind of proof.

"Pardon me, do you have the time?" the other General asked, O'Hara could see that the name on his uniform was Abernathy. She rattled off that it was just a minute or two before 1600 and went back to ignoring him. As if on cue, another General entered from the side. This man was much older with gray hair and a battle hardened face affixed with government issue glasses. Flagg had arrived.

"Thank you for meeting with us, Miss O'Hara." Flagg said, holding out his hand for the attache case. She pulled it closer to her body, refusing to let it out of her sight.

"I'm not just handing this over, General." O'Hara glanced over at Abernathy, then back at Flagg. "Not until I know who he is, or what you two are going to do with what I'm giving you. I don't want another dismissal that this case is legally hot, and I don't want to wide up in the brig for releasing classified documents to uncleared personnel."

"If that's how you want it," Flagg shrugged his shoulders. "This man is General Clayton Abernathy, retired Army. From now on you will refer to him strictly as General Hawk. He is my assistant with a new project, one which you are uncleared to know about."

"Well I'd better get cleared, General. Because, where this case goes, I go." O'Hara detected the faintest hint of a smile on Flagg's face while Hawk directed them back to the Hummer O'Hara had driven over in.

"Very well then Miss O'Hara, get inside."

O'Hara tossed the keys over to General Hawk, who caught them and climbed into the driver's seat. He cranked the massive vehicle to life while Flagg and O'Hara both entered the rear of the vehicle. She opened the case and handed over Agent Face's report to the General. He adjusted his glasses and started to read over it.

"The Director is afraid to do anything until this Bludd character does something out in the open that we can nab him for outright, even though he has most of the European nations looking for him already." O'Hara crossed her arms angrily.

"I've dealt with Bludd before, though not directly. He has some friends in high places, particularly with the corporation Extensive Enterprises. A couple of hot shot lawyers gone corporate businessmen." Flagg relayed the information with an obvious distaste.

Hawk continued driving, taking the trio into New York and Staten Island. O'Hara seemed surprised when she saw the signs for Fort Wadsworth. The base had been closed down back in 1994 and turned over to the National Park service. Hawk kept going, eventually reaching the old motor pool area within the Chaplain's Assistant School. There, he exited the vehicle and stepped up to some kind of a control module. Suddenly there was a jolt, and the Hummer started to descend below ground.


	7. Chapter 06:  Demolition

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize that this chapter is short, and a little slow. I wanted to get back to Springfield and show Scrap Iron starting work on the Terrordrome, but for some reason the chapter just didn't unfold well. There is a bit of information that expands on the stadium, and a couple cameos. However the next chapter will be better I promise. I think when I come around for the redress of this piece, when it's finished, I'm going to bump this chapter earlier in the piece, and spruce it up... a lot.

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><p>Chapter Six:<p>

Location: Springfield, USA.

Scrap Iron directed heavy incoming traffic as load after load of prefabricated paneling and equipment came in by flatbed truck. The parking lot and surrounding roadways were packed with unmarked black heavy transport vehicles. Men in dark jumpsuits jumped down from the flatbeds and started releasing holding clamps and straps while others piloted forklifts toward the trucks. A rare smile spread over his face as Scrap Iron likened the M.A.R.S. set up crew to an army of ants stripping down a carcass before taking it back to the nest.

He turned back to face the Springfield Stadium. Normally a complete reconstruction job would take years, perhaps even a decade to build something in line with what the Terrordrome called for. However, thanks to clever planning on Scrap Iron and McCullen's part, generating prefabricated parts in the beginning would speed up the process to a couple of months depending on the size of the refit, and the crew working upon it.

The Springfield Stadium was developed for Arena Football, which only required a field half the size of a standard football field, and was also already enclosed. This would make the conversion process go smoother as well because it would not require extensive construction to create a roof. The first step in the process however, would be tearing down the exterior walls and working toward the inside. Scrap Iron was looking forward to seeing just how quickly he could get the project finished.

"How bloody long will this take, Scrap Iron?" Major Bludd asked, stroking his chin. "I have plans that require this fortress quite soon."

Scrap Iron rolled his eyes behind his dark glasses, there were times he wanted to strangle the mercenary bastard and be done with it. He crossed his arms and shook his head as though he were crunching numbers instead of fighting back the urge to kill. "So long as we don't run into major difficulties in the retrofit, six months at the latest. I've got a rather large team-"

"And plenty of townsfolk willing to assist you." Bludd interrupted and laughed. "Jolly good mate, keep me informed on your progress." He tapped Scrap Iron on the shoulder and started to walk away, as he did another man approached. He was dressed in crimson fatigues and sported a close shaved goatee. It was one of Bludd's _Crimson Guard_ soldiers.

"What is it Paolino?" Scrap Iron snapped, turning around to direct the first crew of prefab wall panels into the stadium. "Walk and talk, or don't speak at all."

Paolino fell in step behind Scrap Iron without fail, mimicking the man's stride with perfect precision. "Mindbender reports that the next batch of townsfolk are processed and ready to assist with construction. Shall I have him send them out here to speed up the unloading process?"

"Do it, the faster construction is finished the sooner Bludd will be off of my backside." Scrap Iron waved Paolino off. "Assign them to Foster and Breckenridge, they'll distribute the new recruits where they are most needed with the unloading crew. I need to go and supervise the demolition crew, otherwise those Australian fools will demolish the entire compound before we start."

Paolino nodded his head and left Scrap Iron to his work. He passed by one of the transport trucks, peeked inside and saw a clipboard loaded with paperwork and some minor diagrams which he borrowed momentarily while snapping photos with his watch. If O'Hara was still receiving his messages after leaving the Pentagon, she may want to see what the good Major had in mind for Springfield next. Agent faces replaced the clipboard and continued on his way to inform Mindbender to send out the workers.

"Oi Rippa, what do you s'pose this is for?" Buzzer started up his chainsaw and started cutting through the front entrance wall as his companions Ripper and Blowtorch watched. Sparks flew as the saw cut through stone, steel and electrical wiring that had been shut down hours before. Buzzer withdrew the saw and the trio watched as the wall crumbled to the ground, revealing Scrap Iron with a large scowl on his face staring back at them.

"I suggest you hooligans follow me," Scrap Iron growled, snatching Buzzer by the shirt collar. "It's fortunate for you that I needed extra space there to get some of the interior panels through, but from now on you'll be demolishing where I tell you, and only where I tell you."

"We don't take orders from you, Scrap Iron we get them from Zartan." Blowtorch commented, spilling part of his can of grape soda in his thick beard. "He's just lendin' us to you to help break stuff apart."

Scrap Iron led the trio into the rear of the arena, where all of the managerial offices and cash office had been before getting cleared out. "I need all of these offices gutted. No walls or cubicles, I need the entire area one empty room. This is where the armory and security surveillance will be established, so leave no interior wall standing. Don't come out of here till it's finished."

The thought had occurred to Scrap Iron that the fools would cause the entire area to cave in on themselves, and if that happened he was sure that no one in the Major's outfit would miss them. Even Zartan seemed to grow tired of the fools from time to time...


	8. Chapter 07:  Revelation

Author's Note: At last, Snake (Eyes) is finally in the group getting ready for battle. I'm sure some of you will notice that so far he has been silent, but not masked. That is because I've set this story just before he becomes disfigured and has to start wearing the mask. However, I noticed in some of the comics-specifically one of the Transformers/G. cross overs-that he hardly spoke in them either, even when he had the ability to. I apologize if this chapter feels a bit slow like the previous, but I wanted to have the chance to develop Scarlett and Stalker a bit more as characters before proceeding. As always though, I hope you enjoy the chapter and look forward to reviews if my work compels you to do so. :)

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><p>Chapter Seven:<p>

Location: Fort Wadsworth

O'Hara stood back while Abernathy opened the door before her, Flagg motioned for her to go through first and he followed. The new room's interior left much to be desired, and had she not known Agent Faces was serious about contacting Flagg she would have felt like this was a joke. The lights came on, revealing barren steel walls, a medium sized rectangular table and a half dozen folding metal chairs. Seated at the table already was an African American man with neatly trimmed goatee and dreadlocks pulled back behind his head. He wore blue digital camouflage, the rank insignia on his sleeve indicated he was a Sergeant.

"Stalker, this is Shana O'Hara. She has some intelligence relating to the team's first objective." Flagg said, pulling out one of the chairs from the table for O'Hara to sit in. She approached the table and set her case down, but refused to take a seat.

"What team?" O'Hara asked. "I only see Stalker."

"You will be introduced all in good time," Flagg answered her, "please continue with the intelligence your source has been gathering."

"Very well Sir." O'Hara opened the attache case and quickly shuffled through the documents contained therein. She pulled aside the coded communications between herself and Agent Faces to hand them over to Stalker. Also contained in the case were photographic printouts from images that Faces had been able to send her, though not too many.

"It's my job within the Pentagon to monitor matters of national security, particularly those that related to suspected terrorist activity. While doing said monitoring about a year ago, I started to pick up on a lot of seemingly random riots and invasions of small territorial provinces of the United States. The timing of these riots made them seem unrelated to each other, as did their location. However, I started to dig farther and noticed that these riots were generally started by the same kind of people. A bunch of trouble makers in full blue fatigues with black bandannas and military styled helmets.

"Later, after the riots were creating a stir, I started to pick up on large scale invasions in remote areas around the world, particularly those of third world countries that the United Nations and United States wouldn't immediately pick up on. Once again, these odd men in blue were behind the raids, however they also had a leader, a mercenary called Major Bludd. A very nasty individual void of morals and humanity. I started digging back through our records at the Pentagon to try and find out more about this Bludd character when I get another hit on the guys in blue on my security watch. This led to my superiors enlisting the help of Agent Faces, our best undercover operative. We found a way to get him integrated into the group and set him loose to gather information. The results of that information are before you now."

"Looks like a lot, but not enough concrete to warrant an official operation it seems." Stalker said, glancing over the reports from Agent Faces. "Although Faces gives a lot of specifics, it isn't illegal to practice what appears on the outside to be survivalist training. However, to a more trained eye, I can tell you there is more than meets the eye going on here. Especially if this Bludd character is as notorious as you say."

"Exactly Stalker," O'Hara said, "which is what I couldn't get the brass to see. Faces sent me a message to seek out General Flagg and share this information with him if I couldn't get someone in house to make a move."

"I know Paolino, he's a good man. However, until we have greater proof than just scattered photographs and intelligence reports, we can't expect the Pentagon or anyone else to authorize a move on Springfield. What we need is a secondary set of eyes and feet on the ground out there to gather more intel, and bring back proof. Concrete and irrefutable proof that terrorist activity is being conducted." Flagg said. "Which is why I've brought you here, O'Hara. I want you in on that team."

"With all due respect sir," O'Hara turned back to face him, "what good is a group of two going to do when a trained intelligence officer is already sending back intel that is being ignored?"

"Because O'Hara, it won't be a team of two. It will be a team of three, and we aren't going to be keeping up appearances, we're just going in, grabbing what we need and getting back out again. If we do it right, no one will know we were there and we can use what we find to light a fire under the top brass' ass." Stalker responded.

"Where is our third man?" O'Hara asked. "I only see the four of us."

"We have to collect him on the way, but that won't be a problem. Now, what we need to do is come up with your codename for this operation." Abernathy said, stepping forward. "And, I would like to suggest Scarlett."

O'Hara cocked an eyebrow. "Just as good as any I suppose, though why bother with codenames?"

"It will cut down on the likelihood of anyone coming after you, or those you know after today. As of right now, Scarlett, you are now a member of a covert special missions force operating under the government radar." Flagg answered. "Now, I suggest you follow Stalker out of here to get your gear before rendezvousing with your final team member. Godspeed and good luck."

Scarlett tried her best to relax while Stalker drove them through suburbia New Jersey on their way out of the state. She sighed and leaned her head against the passenger side window, watching trees and parked vehicles pass her by. Life was always an enigma, filled with situations that couldn't be explained or quantified. Just yesterday she was a simple intelligence analyst in the Pentagon, and now she was just a couple hours short of hopping a jet transport into first hand field work—and all of the dangers that it entailed.

"I've seen that look before," Stalker offered.

"Where? In the face of every soldier you ever commanded?" Scarlett turned to him, giving the Sergeant one of her _so what_ kind of stares. "I don't think that kind of pep talk is going to change things right now Stalker."

"Actually no. While I saw something similar in those brave men, and women mind you, the look on your face was much more exclusive. I remember seeing it in the mirror maybe ten years ago, those were some troublesome days. Glad they're behind me now." Stalker replied.

"When you decided to enlist?" Scarlett asked.

"Not too long before then. I was a punk kid growing up in the streets of Detroit, I got caught up in gangland activities. After a couple of years, I worked my way up the food chain all the way to the top. I can still remember that morning, fresh from a hot shower and covered in fresh bruises, I wiped the steam off of my bathroom mirror. I couldn't recognize the face in the mirror anymore. I was no longer the innocent kid that I had been, I had become rough and embittered. I didn't think there was an escape from the life I had unwittingly made for myself. And then..."

"You joined the Army." Scarlett finished for him.

"Met some of the bravest people I know there, and got my life back on track. Trust me, whatever is giving you that stare will vanish in due time. A soldier's life is rough, tough and often without thanks from the very people you protect but it's the right thing to do."

Scarlett found a new respect for Stalker in that moment. It wasn't often someone in that kind of life found an escape that would allow them to make a better life for themselves, and others. It almost made her reasons for joining the Army seem selfish.

"I joined up with revenge in my heart." Scarlett said. "Revenge, and fear."

"Revenge is a very strong thing for a pretty heart like yours to bear." Stalker responded. "Never could stomach it myself, you hold onto it for too long you wide up throwing your life away."

"My father was killed during the September Eleventh attacks. I wanted to join up so I could find a way to make the terrorists pay, it's why I wanted to get into intelligence so desperately. Then, I end up getting stuck on ferret duty." After that, the conversation ceased and their ride continued in silence for some time.

Stalker turned onto the interstate and continued out of the city proper. They continued going until Stalker turned off on an exit leading into what Scarlett could only identify as book woods country. She didn't even think wooded areas like this existed anymore outside of national parks. It wasn't long before Stalker stopped the vehicle and got out, pointing ahead of them into the trees.

"There's a log cabin up there, maybe a thousand feet behind the trees. That's where we're going to find our third man." Stalker lead the way, waiting for Scarlett to fall in behind.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"A buddy of mine, we go back several years in the Army. Hell, he's part of the reason I was in the slammer. I refused to turn him, or the rest of our team, in to the authorities for a crime they didn't commit."

"The DeCobray incident?" Scarlett stopped for a moment to gauge Stalker's reaction. "That was you?"

"Yeah, small world I guess." Stalker shrugged, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Scarlett was about to utter an apology when Stalker put his arm out in front of her, preventing her from taking another step. She gave him an odd stare as he knelt down and pulled a thin wire up from the ground for her to see. He motioned for Scarlett to back up before he tugged on the wire and a large piece of tree trunk came flying at them, striking another tree where Scarlett would have been stepping through after hitting the wire. Her eyes widened.

"Snake was a damn good trapper." Stalker offered, then continued moving. "I wouldn't be surprised to find a couple more along the way, unless he finds us first."

"If this is the least he can do, I'm certainly glad he's on our side." Scarlett said.

"You and me both, sister."

There was a ruffling of brush ahead of the pair, seconds later a solitary figure clad in black emerged from the treeline. He nodded toward Stalker, greeting his old comrade and then inclined his head toward the new arrival. Stalked stepped forward and shook hands.

"Snake, it's good to see you again outside of those bars. This is Scarlett, a new friend." With that, Snake offered his hand for Scarlett to shake as well. She wasn't sure where the name Snake was coming from, but she could certainly see from his finely chiseled frame that he was a combat seasoned soldier like Stalker. He also had a very firm grip with his handshakes, it reminded Scarlett of her father.

"We're putting together a new team, I know you're going to want in. I need you to come with us." Stalker said. "We've been keeping an eye on a possible terrorist cell operating out west of here, we need to get inside their base of operations grab enough proof that Uncle Sam will finally do something about them, and get back out safely. I wish Tommy and Wade were coming along with us, but I know you'll see us through it."

Snake nodded and moved back into the treeline, reemerging with an Army issue duffel bag. Stalker smiled, and motioned back toward the vehicle. It was time to catch a plane.


	9. Chapter 08:  Discovered

Author's Note: I had originally wanted to have this as two separate chapters, but the more I thought about it the better it seemed to combine them. Also, I wanted to give Zartan a bit more personality than I've seen in Resolute or the original cartoon. I remember he was shifty, sneaky and oddly enough honorable in the comic series and perhaps that is how I'll be able to portray him later in this piece-and others-but for now I also think he would be the wine, women and song type of rogue as well even if that might just be part of his "act".

I hope you enjoy, and shout out to rogue-scholar07 for reviewing!

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><p>Chapter Eight:<p>

Location: Springfield, USA.

Mindbender stood with hands clasped behind his back. He observed the wall full of monitors before him, studying the reactions of his _patients_. During his stay in Springfield, he had already lost a dozen strong willed subjects; many of which were put down due to the fact that their will could not be broken so early in the program. Disposal of viable subjects wasn't one of the doctor's habits, however he saw the logic in Bludd's decision: they were a security risk.

Somewhere behind him in the room, Mindbender heard laboratory assistants moving around quickly to begin prepping for his next test subject. Thick leather straps with steel latches were brought in and tested, crude but necessary for this particular patient. Intravenous liquids were hung and prepared as well, all was ready. He turned back around to face the surgical table and smirked. He was going to enjoy breaking this one. Although but a child, Kessler was abnormally strong willed and quite the challenge.

"Bring him in." Mindbender clapped his hands together gleefully. At his command, Billy Kessler was escorted into the lab by several of Bludd's Crimson Guard members, one of whom entered sans helmet and approached him.

"You sent for me, Doctor?" Paolino asked.

"Yes," Mindbender replied, his voice heavily accented. He stepped forward and clapped Paolino on the back. "At the request of Major Bludd, he specifically requested that you observe the procedure."

Agent Faces nervously watched as the other Crimson Guards forcefully drug Billy to the surgical table and strapped him down, tight. The boy yelled and screamed with obscenities mixing with pleas that they leave his mother alone. The spy's heart sank from his chest because he knew if he tried to stop the procedure he would be unmasked. He remembered reading once 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few', Dickens really knew how to chose his words carefully.

"The boy is extremely tough, from what I've seen it must come from the father and not the mother." Agent Faces couldn't place Mindbender's accent, but he was quite sure it stemmed from near Germany or at least had Germanic origins. Regardless of where he had come from however, the good doctor loved to hear himself talk.

"This makes the thirtieth attempt to persuade the boy to help us, any normal child would have broken before ten. I'm sure Child Behavioral Psychologists would love to get their hands on him, Pavlov and Skinner both. I wonder perhaps, would the boy's father be just as difficult or better?" His eyes lit up like a child fantasizing about a new toy.

"But I digress, Guards please leave us now. I've much work to get done." Mindbender stepped beside the surgical table and snatched the IV needle up from its perch. He wiped down the injection site on Kessler's arm, applied the tourniquet and jabbed the needle in quickly. Once properly secured, the IV fluids began dripping. Mindbender produced a vial and syringe, which he used to extract some of the vial's dark fluid. Next he inserted the syringe into a secondary port on the IV line and pressed the plunger.

"This is the strongest neuro-chemical I've been able to concoct thus far; a meticulous blend of hallucinogenics to keep the boy's mind off balance, relaxants to keep the stress levels down and my own personal experimental drug to make his mind putty in my hands."

Agent Faces watched as all the muscles in Kessler's arms bulged and tightened as he struggled in vain against the leather straps. A large vein was poking out in the boy's neck and he cried out in pain. All of these signs only made Mindbender grin wider. The boy convulsed, and then lie still as the IV continued to drip.

The laboratory door opened once again, Agent Faces didn't dare turn to see who entered as he watched the seemingly unconscious boy on the table. His blood ran cold and an unnatural chill went down his spine. Something wasn't right, and his senses were telling him it was time to run.

"Why are you telling me this?" Agent Faces asked before getting caught by surprise as his arms were grabbed and pinned behind his back. Mindbender turned around and adjusted his glasses.

"Because my dear boy, you're going to be next."

Agent Faces stamped down hard on the foot of whoever was holding him, and spun around to throw a punch into his midsection. He turned, fist flying in the air and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. It couldn't be; the man who had grabbed him was non other than himself. The spitting image right down to the discolored hairs in his goatee.

"Zartan, be a good sport and subdue him will you? I have to continue monitoring my patient." Mindbender waved dismissively and turned back to the boy.

Faces recovered himself just in time for Zartan to get one good uppercut into the spy's chin, knocking him stumbling backward. He righted himself, threw the next punch which missed as well and then was hit with a cloud of gas from within Zartan's hand. Faces threw his hands back up, immediately feeling dizzy. He struggled to keep his eyes open during the next punch but only succeeded in falling to the floor unconscious.

Zartan leaned down, grabbed Faces by the collar of his Crimson uniform and threw him over his shoulders. There would be another table prepped and at the ready in the next laboratory room over. It was there he would deposit the spy and make his way back to Bludd's office to inform him the information leak had been solved. That, he would later add, would involve a finder's fee.

"How'd you catch him, Mate?" Bludd asked, feet propped up on his desk. Zartan was leaning against the nearby bookshelf, staring down at Bludd with dubious intent. "Never had 'cause to suspect the bloke until you said something."

"Easy Major, I roam about keeping an eye on all of our personnel for just such an occasion." He crossed his arms, apparently growing tired of giving out the obvious answers. "Something that you should be doing yourself, I might add. Or at the very least, the other Crimson Guard members. That is their purpose, not just acting as your personal bodyguards."

"I'll remind you Zartan, I don't take kindly to insubordination!" Bludd jumped up, fists pounding on the desk as he rose to his feet quickly. He glared at the mercenary with his only good eye. "Are you sure that he was the only one?"

"Quite sure, Major. However, I'll be that there are going to be other party crashers on their way. If a spy this good has been with us this long, there is no telling what information he could have leaked out to incriminate you."

"Don't you mean us? Incriminate us, Zartan?"

"No, I don't Major. You seem to forget just how easily I can fade into the distance when I want to. Just a few seconds out of sight and you'll never find me again, unless I want you to. I suggest you start combing through your troops, separating the ones you aren't sure you can trust and keeping them corralled until your work is finished and they can be determined as reliable or not."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't lump you into that category with all the others?" Bludd demanded. "Every good mercenary knows not to trust anyone, especially other mercenaries!"

"Because Major, I'm the only other person in this operation who knows the puppeteer pulling your strings. If you're finished with me, I think I'll go about the city and test the resolve of some of your female troopers. Hell hath no fury you know..." Zartan bowed and showed himself out of the Major's office.

"Clever bastard," Bludd said, falling back into his chair. He drummed his fingers on the desktop angrily contemplating his next action.


	10. Chapter 09:  Capture

Author's Note: I had been debating about cutting this chapter into two pieces, but decided that I would rather keep it as one piece. I would just put a scene break into it to cover the lapse in time between take off and arrival. And so this chapter ends roughly about the first third of my planned story thus far, so it's kind of a happy occasion for me. Next chapter we're switching back to Hawk and Flagg for the aftermath, so look out for it sometime in the next week.

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><p>Chapter Nine:<p>

Location: En Route to Springfield

Snake glanced out the window, watching silently as the three of them left the cabin behind. It had been some time since he and Stalker shared a mission together, though last time they served together it had landed his commanding officer in prison. He'd lost contact with the other men from their unit, particularly Wade Collins a very close friend of Stalkers. The other missing man, his own friend Tommy remained in Japan. After Stalker's arrest, he had told both men to escape while they could and try to track down a lead on who really killed Eugene DeCobray. For some time both men had followed every trail they could in the Middle East but could find nothing. That was when they left for Japan.

Tommy had been anxious to return to his training, particularly to study under his uncle on a more one to one basis. Snake followed along because there was nowhere else for him to go. His family was killed in a car accident while he was at war, the only other person he would have ever called friend was locked up by the very government they served and he had never had luck with women. Not even with Tommy's cousin, Kimi. Snake had trained with Tommy and the Hard Master for several years prior to their involvement in the War on Terror, and intended to continue it after. That training had been the only thing that kept him from a complete breakdown when he learned of the death of his family.

He heard Stalker and Scarlett talking in the front seat, though he tuned them out mostly. They were sharing some of their past experiences in the Army, and from what he did pick up on Scarlett hadn't seen much front line action from behind her desk at the Pentagon. Perhaps this mission would teach her a couple things about being a soldier, perhaps not. He did notice that she exhibited a certain admiration for Stalker, the man's experience and leadership. He also noticed that she seemed to pay him a lot of attention too, though he never said a word to her; nor did he have anything that he wanted to say.

"How long have you and Snake known each other?" Scarlett asked, her southern tone tickled Snake's ears slightly. It was a sound he hadn't heard in quite some time.

"Nearly as long as I've been in the Army. After my first couple of years in the service, I wound up being promoted and transferred to a new unit. It was a rag tag group more like the Dirty Dozen than a group of stereotypical soldiers. Each man was very unique in his views and actions, particularly Snake and his friend Thomas Arashikage, and one other man in our team named Wade Collins." Stalker took a glance back at Snake.

"Wade was our communications expert and information gatherer, he could also do a decent bit of undercover work when needed. He had this way of mimicking people, kinda odd but I supposed it helped in the intelligence field. However, he paled in comparison to Tommy didn't he Snake?"

The silent passenger simply nodded in agreement.

"Who is Tommy?"

"He was a friend of Snake's before we got caught up in the war. The two of them would make trips to Japan where they'd train in martial arts under Tommy's uncle, the Hard Master. He was a bit of a wise cracker, but definitely a good man to have at your back in the thick of a firefight. More than once he saved both our lives and the lives of the rest of our unit. Like Snake he mostly kept to himself though."

"Where is he now?"

"Presumably still in Japan. When Snake returned to the States, he told me Tommy wasn't ready to come back yet. He was having some trouble dealing with the dishonorable way I'd been thrown under the bus. Something else about Tommy; you get him worked up enough he's likely to come after you with whatever weapon is at hand. We were all afraid he'd take some matters into his own hands, so he decided to remove himself from the equation for now."

Scarlett turned in her seat to stare back at Snake, a puzzled look on her face. "Why haven't you said anything? I can understand some silence meeting new people, but it's as though you can't speak at all."

"That's because he hasn't uttered a word in at least two years." Stalker supplied. "Hasn't said a word since his family died while we were stuck in the Middle East the first time."

"What happened?"

"I don't know exactly, other than the fact that there was a car accident. A drunk driver swerved in the road, losing control and crashed into the car carrying his parents and teenaged sister. They say their deaths were instantaneous, but I have my doubts." Stalker said. "But now's not the time for that, we've reached the airfield."

Stalker pulled the vehicle off to the side and shut it down. Snake got out, taking his bag with him and Scarlett followed after. The Sergeant pulled open the gate reading _Authorized Personnel Only_. Sitting outside one of the hangars was a UH60 Blackhawk helicopter ready for takeoff, rotors still spinning. The pilot jumped down from the cockpit and shielded his eyes from the turbulent air while waving them forward.

In between gusts of air Stalker caught a glimpse of the man's face and recognized him instantly. It was Brad Armbuster, the combat pilot who provided Snake, Tommy and himself an escape back in the Middle East. Stalker grinned and rushed to shake the man's hand.

"Armbuster? Is it really you?"

"Long time no see Stalker, glad to see you up and mobile again. Though, it's not Armbuster anymore. On this operation, Flagg says start calling me Ace." he shrugged. "Does the General think I've got a superiority complex or something? The only thing I ace is people's money out of their wallets in a poker game."

"Damn it's good to see you."

"That might be so Stalker, but we gotta move. I've got enough fuel to get you half way to Springfield before I have to get more. Let's try and get there quickly as possible, I don't want you losing the cover of darkness to get in unnoticed." Ace pulled the side door open for Stalker and company to climb inside before climbing back in behind the controls. "Please keep your arms and legs inside the chopper at all times, and definitely do not open the doors unless your pilot asks you to."

Stalker leaned back in his seat, watching as Ace continued piloting the Blackhawk. Two hours ago they had refueled, during which time Scarlet fell asleep, leaning up against Snake's shoulder. She seemed like a good kid, he just hoped that his record for mission SNAFUs didn't affect this one. He glanced out the window as the sun finally vanished beyond the horizon providing the much needed darkness. Ace informed him via headset that the drop off zone was only twenty minutes ahead of them, he glanced over at Snake who gently stroked Scarlett's hair while she slept. Stalker remembered that Snake's sister had red hair once...

"Wait a second," Ace said.

"What is it?" Stalker asked, leaning forward to stare out of the cockpit.

"The lights. There aren't any. A big city like Springfield should be lit up like the fourth of July right now. I'll switch to night vision to set you down, but something doesn't feel right about this." Ace flipped down a pair of goggles over his face and powered them on. Through them he could make out building shapes and empty streets. The city looked deserted, ghost town deserted. He was about to say something to that effect when he glanced off to his left and saw a rapidly approaching Surface to Air Missile coming right at them just as the chopper warning system caught on.

"Hold on!" Ace snapped, pulling back on the yoke. The missile barely missed the Blackhawk, one of the fins struck the side of the chopper. "This zone just got hot Stalker, you're gonna have to jump now. I don't know how much longer I can hold off against that kind of fire power."

Ace glanced back at the city and saw another SAM preparing to launch off of a roof top. "Go!"

Scarlett was startled from her sleep as Snake quickly rose from his seat and threw open the door, tied his duffel on the opposite end of a rappeling line and threw it down to the ground. He grabbed Stalker and pointed to the door. The Sergeant tried to argue, but the second SAM proved much more persuasive than Stalker could have thought. He grabbed the line and slid to the ground, grabbing his weapon along the way.

Scarlett fumbled with her restraints, they wouldn't release no matter how hard she tried. The second SAM struck the Blackhawk, taking out the tail section. Ace struggled with the controls to make the bird steady, but was not successful. Snake turned back before he could jump and saw that Scarlett couldn't get free. He drew his knife, slashed at the restraints and pushed her toward the door where she barely had a moment to grab the line and guide herself to the ground below. Snake turned back for Ace just in time to see a third and final SAM struck the chopper fuselage. Snake's world was filled with blurred images and swirling scenery as he fought to reach the cockpit just feet in front of him. He grabbed Ace and jumped from the Blackhawk moments before it hit the ground.

Snake could feel severe burning on the side of his face that wouldn't cease no matter how he tried to stop it. He fought not to cry out in agonizing pain and reveal their position to any troops that were on their way to investigate the downed chopper. He could see Scarlett running toward them, Stalker coming up behind with Snake's bag slung over his shoulder. As they drew near, Scarlett's face was filled with horror. She ran to his side repeating "Oh my God your face!" as she fumbled around in her pack. Stalker instead moved to check on Ace and appeared relieved to find a pulse.

Scarlett pulled a cloth sling out of her pack, presumably from a med kit, and started to wrap it around Snake's head, partially obscuring his vision on the burning side of his face. "We have to get him out of here to the hospital!" Scarlett said.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Stalker said while lowering Snake's bag. "I don't think we have much of a choice at all in fact."

Scarlett turned around to find groups of men in red uniforms and blue SWAT gear standing around them with automatic rifles aimed at them all.


	11. Chapter 10:  Roster

Author's Note: Okay, so I lied. The chapter isn't just Hawk and Flagg talking about the team. I'm trying to think of what to do about these chapters that keep working themselves into split scenes, whether or not I need to start splitting them up or just get in the habit of using a secondary location setting to indicate when the scene changes. Something to think about when the revised version comes along later this year I guess...

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><p>Chapter Ten:<p>

Location: Fort Wadsworth

Hawk took a seat behind his desk, glancing through a stack of dossiers that Flagg dropped off on his desk moments ago. The General was seated across from him, also glancing at some of the folders. In all there were over a hundred folders from all branches of the United States Armed Forces, but the men were only looking for four additional names. Hawk grabbed a new folder from the stack, setting aside Craig S. McConnel.

"Krieger, Courtney A." Hawk said, flipping open the dossier. The paper clipped photo inside bore the image of a buxom strawberry blond woman leaning against an M1 Abrams tank. Within her file it mentioned she had been a fashion model before joining the service, and that she showed high aptitude with diesel engine mechanics.

"The name is familiar," Flagg said. "She's the mechanic, right?"

Hawk nodded his head, setting the file directly beside him. Having a diesel mechanics expert would be helpful to the team, should they be able to get approval. The idea that the woman would abandon life at the highest point of the fashion industry—not to mention easy street central—just to get her hands dirty in the war effort intrigued him, that was certainly someone Hawk would want on his team.

"How about you?" Hawk grabbed another dossier.

"Hinton, Marvin F.," Flagg answered. "Heavy weapons specialist and previous commanding officers made careful note about the man's culinary skills. I guess if we end up seeing peacetime we'll at least have decent food around base instead of MREs till the end of the world." Hawk noticed a smug grin on Flagg's face.

"There's one name I've been thinking about, but haven't seen the dossier on," Hawk leaned forward. "We heard about the man when we recruited Stalker. Remember, the Drill Sergeant spouting Spartan etiquette?"

"Sneeden, Wayne R., I remember him. I've already pulled his folder aside. I want the man." Flagg said. "Glad that we're on the same page Hawk, I think that he would keep the troops in shape once we got them. I've seen a host of comments left in his file, terrifying recruits out of basic combat training, extreme conditions for PT and on more than one occasion bringing a grown man to tears—I hope that is just an exaggeration."

"So do I." Hawk commented. "Then that just leaves one last name I suppose."

"Correct. What we're missing is a communications expert to keep the team in touch and on the cutting edge of technology both on and off the battlefield."

"So who do you think we should approach? There's any number of communication experts that we could call on. Even Scarlett I'm sure could fulfill that role to an extent, coming from intelligence from the Pentagon of all places. We've got mostly Army personnel thus far, perhaps we should start there?"

"I've thought about that," Flagg mused. He dug through the stack of dossiers locating one specific file he had come across when first gathering them. "Kibbey, Alvin R., expert on several forms of field communications equipment as well as headquarters electronics. I think we'll start with him."

"Then when do we know if we should proceed with recruitment?" Hawk asked, taking the other folders from Flagg and setting them with Krieger's beside him. It wouldn't take long to locate each, since they were all current active military status. Getting the paperwork in order and transfers set would be the hard part though.

"As soon as we get more intelligence from Stalker's team. We should be hearing from them within a few hours, provided that everything went according to plan. Ace's flight plan put them into Springfield air space twenty minutes ago, he should be on his return flight now."

"I hope so. What do we do if we don't hear from them on schedule?" Hawk asked.

"Pray that we do." Flagg answered.

A heavy silence fell over the two men as they sat in near darkness, waiting for some sort of unknown signal to move them forward. That signal came moments later in the form of a mechanical chime coming from Hawk's computer. He moved the mouse, waking his computer screen from sleep mode to find a dialog box declaring he was receiving a message. The recipient address however belonged to Scarlett.

"What?" Hawk said, confused.

"The reason why we need a communications expert, Hawk. I contacted one of my past communications officers, a loyal kid that doesn't ask questions, and had him set Scarlett's messages to forward to our in boxes. I had Sparks do it as a precaution, in case Agent Faces was sending intelligence before Stalker and his team could land."

"Then let's see what Faces has to say." Hawk clicked on the message and let it load.

Location: Springfield

"On your feet!" one of the crimson suited men shouted. He had his rifle aimed specifically at Snake, finger on the trigger and ready to pull. The latter continued sitting on the ground, unresponsive and before the trooper could make another step toward the injured man Scarlett threw herself between them.

"This man has been seriously burned and injured in who knows what way, he needs immediate medical attention. Why aren't you helping him?" Her hands were on her hips, and her eyes glared daggers at the lead Crimson Guard. He hesitated a moment before making his next move.

One of the SWAT looking soldiers, Stalker thought he heard the term Viper mentioned, stepped forward and grabbed Snake's bag from beside him. With gun drawn he forced the Sergeant to remove all of his weapons and drop them inside of the duffel. With no other choice, Stalker complied and returned to Ace's side. The pilot seemed to be coming back around, and had minor injuries compared to Snake.

"We have been ordered to take you before Major Bludd for questioning. It is his decision who receives medical treatment, and when. Consider yourselves lucky that he did not issue Shoot on Sight orders before we found you."

Scarlett brought her arm back, ready to punch the helmeted man but Snake reached up and grabbed her before she could do it. She spun around and saw him shaking his head before rising to his feet. Four of the Vipers stepped forward with handcuffs open and ready. When she saw Snake put up no fight, she followed suit and took up position behind him. Stalker and Ace did likewise before being led down into Springfield at gunpoint.

Stalker glanced around at their surroundings. Trees were on all sides, there was now a fire where the Black Hawk had crashed, and somewhere ahead of them he could make out a bit of roadway. There was no clear path for one of them to run, if they could even break free of their captors. Snake was in bad shape, but he had survived worse. Ace was shaken, but not bad off. Scarlett, near as Stalker could tell right now, was putting on a tough act. It looked best that they not fight back, and see where they were going to be taken. Their mission was to gather intelligence, what better way to gather it than be right in the middle of all the action? He just hoped that Hawk and Flagg had some kind of backup protocol he hadn't been briefed on yet. He didn't like the idea of being trapped behind enemy lines with no hope of rescue or escape through other means. They just had to bide their time.

The blood seemed to have stopped flowing for now, and the burning only continued. Without needing a mirror Snake knew he would be disfigured for life from now on. He nearly cringed at the thought of looking like Harvey Dent from the Batman comics for the rest of his life. However, his personal appearance right now was the least of his worries. He had to find a way to help the others escape and get word out, somehow. If it were back to just Tommy and himself, they'd be out of here in hours. Even with Stalker it'd take a few minutes longer, but the three knew each others thinking and could work through a plan without even speaking it. The others were variables he needed to account for, and that unfortunately would take much more time than he would like.

To Scarlett it looked as though she was going to get a chance to meet Bludd up close and personal, something Flagg said he hadn't done. The honor didn't sound to fulfilling, or desirable given her current situation. She never thought that field work would be this dangerous so soon out, and hoped that this wouldn't be her only field assignment before she met her end. Over her shoulder she could see Ace and Stalker following after, with escort of course. Snake continued moving ahead of her and she had no idea how he could bear the pain he must be in with those injuries. It must be excruciating.

The lead Crimson Guard stopped and gave a Hold Position sign, which the others obeyed without fail. Scarlett could hear him talking to someone through his helmet, and a heavy British accent practically shouting in the man's ear in return. He looked back at the four prisoners and pointed at Ace. "The Major says bring only three, keep that one aside."

The Vipers moved away from him and a split second later the Crimson Guard produced a pistol and fired, hitting Ace in one of his knees. The pilot dropped, growling in pain and cursing the figured in red, who came closer with the pistol still drawn. "Keep moving toward the city, I'll take care of this one and meet back up with you before taking the others to the Major."

"Ace!" Scarlett shouted, elbowing Viper beside her. The surprised soldier backed out of her way as she started running toward her fallen comrade. One of the other Vipers tripped her and grabbed Scarlett by the hair, hefting her back to her feet. She shouted out, trying to kick back at her opponent who silenced her with a heavy chop to the shoulder. She dropped motionless to the ground before he threw her over his shoulder. The group continued on.

When the others were out of sight, the Crimson Guard removed his helmet revealing a dark haired man with a thin goatee. He leaned down, produced medical supplies from his pack and got to work on Ace's leg. He spread powdered sulfur over the wound to keep it from getting infected and wrapped the wound tight. Ace snatched the pistol from his belt and held it level, aiming for the man's helmet.

"Don't bother, the last round went in your leg." The Crimson Guard removed his helmet, revealing a man with short cropped dark hair and a thin goatee. "I had to do something to get one of you separate from the rest. Now, there's an ATV roughly a half click east of here. I'll give you the keys and you high tail it out of here, get word back to the General. Bludd is getting ready to make a move."

"Why are you helping us?" Ace asked.

"Because, I'm Flagg's man on the inside." Zartan smiled. "Agent Faces."


	12. Chapter 11:  Jugglers

Author's Note: And here we go the mysterious message revealed and Flagg is off to face the Jugglers. I remember in the comics those guys were pretty much just an obstacle and never really helped the Joes accomplish anything, I wanted to portray that here as well.

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><p>Chapter Eleven:<p>

Location: Fort Wadsworth

"What does it say?" Flagg asked, leaning over Hawk's shoulder to look at his computer screen. The message took several moments to open, and still more time for the text to appear.

"O'Hara," Hawk read aloud, "Bludd is moving forward with his plans of turning Springfield into a fully armed and staffed base of operations on United States soil. His manpower is in the hundreds as well as several VIP staffers here, chief among them is Doctor Brian Bender. If you do send a scouting party, I recommend high caution. Just a short time ago Bludd had an Army helicopter shot down because it was too close to our airspace."

"This doesn't bode well," Flagg said. "Bender has some serious charges leveled against him in Europe, and a few here in the States as well. Immoral practice, unlawful experimentation on human subjects, the list goes on and on."

"Something seems fishy about this," Hawk said while rereading the message. "I know Faces addressed all the messages to O'Hara, but wouldn't he have figured out that she was one of the ones in that chopper?"

"Perhaps, but also he may not have been present at the time it was shot down. For all we know there were no survivors either." Flagg played devil's advocate. "It could also be meant as a warning if we planned on sending additional troops."

"You may be right Flagg, but still something isn't sitting right with me. I think it's also the timing that we got the message, not just that it was still addressed to Scarlett. I don't think Faces would have been so open with the information, base intelligence or status on the chopper. His other messages have been very matter of factual, and show he'd taken time to find out all of the details. This seems like a plant, or bait. So the question I have to ask is, why? Was Faces discovered, if so is he cooperating with them now? Was this message sent specifically in this fashion to let us know something was up?"

"Good questions, but I think that you're getting too far ahead of yourself Hawk." Flagg said. "Those are the types of things I should be doing, you're still getting to that point. You're going to make me look bad." he chuckled. "However let's error on the side of caution, let's assume that the message was sent for the purpose of informing us that the chopper went down and something is wrong with the mission. That would mean our next step is to approach the Jugglers and then proceed with gathering the secondary members of our team."

"And if the Jugglers say no?" Hawk spun in his chair and rose to his feet. "Then what?"

"Then we forge the necessary documentation and get the personnel anyway. I'll be damned if I'm leaving those people to rot or be killed by Bludd in Springfield."

Location: The Pentagon

The room was pitch black and silent. Flagg felt as though he'd been thrown into solitary confinement by just stepping inside. He stood at attention with hands behind his back, secretly crossing his fingers. The number of times he had been in this room and gotten the approval he wanted could be counted on just one hand, and still leave fingers. Every time was just like facing a firing squad as well.

Twelve men sat behind a monolithic podium, not unlike judges in court. Not entirely out of place either, considering how often the Jugglers passed sentence in this room. Flagg stared forward, watching the Foreman as he read over the requisition form and Flagg's report thus far. The silence was unbearable, even with the occasional mumble from above as the Jugglers discussed something just out of discernible each shot. It must be much, much worse for Hawk outside in the hall waiting to hear back from Flagg how their trip went.

Flagg kept his breathing level and controlled, not giving even the slightest hint of desperation or fear in their eyes. A single lamp exploded into bright light on the podium and shined down into Flagg's face. He closed his eyes to shield them while listening to what came next.

"What business is this Springfield of ours?" The Foreman asked. "You've mentioned in your report that it has already been passed over once as insubstantial. Why do you continue to play with fire, General?"

"Because the people of the United States have a right to lead safe lives, ignorant of what must sometimes be done to protect them. Bludd is a threat to America gentlemen, if he is setting up a base of operations here there is no telling what he is planning or could be capable of. The very purpose of the Patriot Act is to give us, the nation's protectors, authority to investigate and detain individuals suspected of terrorist activity. I would certainly call shooting an Army helicopter out of the sky a terrorist act. Not to mention building your own private army."

"I fail to see where any of this gives you carte blanc to go around and conscript or press gang men and women of the Armed Forces for your own personal misadventures, Flagg. Had you approached us prior to sending in your first team, we could have reached some kind of agreement. However, we cannot simply approve your request for these men even on a temporary basis. Your request is denied." The Foreman slammed a stamp down onto the requisition form and passed it back down to Flagg.

"Additionally, any serviceman or servicewoman who is found to be aiding you beyond this meeting shall be formally court marshaled and dishonorably discharged. You're committing career suicide Flagg, Abernathy was lucky enough to retire before you got hold of him. Don't drag anyone else down with you."

"Yes Sir." Flagg saluted, about faced and exited the room. It took all of his control to avoid scaling that podium and fragging the lot of lot of those men. They were useless, and spineless. It was time to call in any favors he still had, and get the ball rolling on an rescue attempt irregardless. Even if it meant he and Abernathy were the only ones able to go into Springfield.


	13. Chapter 12:  Sparks

Author's Note: I've had this chapter done for close to a week, but haven't had the chance to get it posted due to a hectic work schedule. So far I have one more chapter written and ready to go, however there is a chapter I'm adding in between this one and the next one so next time I update it'll be a double dose! This chapter inspired me to go back and add a new opening chapter to the final version of this story I'll be compiling off and on while finishing this one up as well, so it should be interesting to see how it helps to shape up the final version. Sorry there aren't too many exciting things to update on for now, but maybe next time!

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><p>Chapter Twelve:<p>

Location: The Pentagon

Hawk noticed the look on Flagg's face as he exited the Jugglers' chambers. It was a look that invited no questions or comments, and simply let him know that it was time to leave. It was obvious that the Jugglers hadn't agreed to their plans for a rescue mission. Both men had already assumed that eventuality. But he hadn't thought that Flagg would seriously consider forging orders. That was a very serious offense, and could land him in prison if not set him up for high treason and execution. The pair of generals found the nearest exit and left the Pentagon behind them.

"Hawk, I'll have you know that the next moves I make will more than likely carry heavy consequences. You do not have to take part in them, and your career can remain untarnished." Flagg rooted in his breast pocket and found the small cellular phone he carried in case of emergencies.

"Sir, you didn't bring me into this assignment just to have me back out because the Juggler's don't like my involvement. I probably hate those men with just as much passion as you do, and like you I can't live with myself knowing I helped put Stalker, Scarlett and Snake's lives in danger. I'm with you all the way to the firing squad if I have to be." Hawk said.

"That's just what I needed to hear. I want you to meet me downtown in a couple of hours, at a small mom and pop coffee shop called Papa Joe's. I have a couple calls to make, and some strings to pull before meeting up with you. Hopefully my news when we meet next will be a lot more productive." Flagg said. "Take the Humvee, I'll take the bus."

"Very well Flagg, good hunting." Hawk replied and started off back toward the vehicle.

Flagg waited until Hawk was out of sight and started dialing. There were only three people who knew the number to his cellular phone: his wife, his son, and Sergeant Alex Verdi a communications expert who had served under Flagg previously. It was Verdi he was preparing to call. The phone rang several times before Flagg heard the Sergeant pick up.

"Sergeant Verdi." he said rather blandly. "How may I direct your call?"

"Sparks, it's me." Flagg said, waiting a second for the Sergeant's response.

"Sir, this isn't a secure line." Sparks replied.

"I know son, I need to ask you a favor. Meet me at our usual spot in twenty minutes, I'll explain more when I see you." Flagg ended the call and started walking away from the Pentagon on his way to the nearest bus stop. Sparks was a good man, and had yet to disappoint him.

Location: Washington D.C., USA.

The door chimed as Flagg stepped through Papa Joe's door. It had been some time since his last visit, mostly due to the amount of actions he had to take lately in regard to the Bludd threat in Springfield and keeping the wolves at bay as they tried to force his own hand at retirement. The older man behind the counter immediately recognized Flagg and started to plate a cheese danish as well as pour a large cup of coffee. Flagg purchased his usual and took a seat near the window to wait for Sparks. It wasn't long before the young Sergeant stepped through the door himself.

"Good afternoon, General." Sparks said before taking a seat across from Flagg. Sparks was still in uniform, and Flagg could almost picture the large field radio on the soldier's back like the old days. "What can I do for you, Sir?"

"Before I get into the favor Son, I need you to understand that this will more than likely cause a lot of trouble down the road. I was informed by the Juggler's themselves that my career is as good as over if I continued down this road. If it is discovered that you helped me do this, your career may be in jeopardy as well." Flagg said.

Sparks wore a broad smile, remembering a conversation he and Flagg had in Papa Joe's coffee shop many months before. "So you've decided to take my advice and go out with a bang after all Sir. I'm proud to have served you in the past, and will continue doing it until you're no longer around to give orders. What can I do for you?"

"I need transfer orders for four people. I have all the pertinent information for you in this file," Flagg passed an envelope across the table to Sparks. "I need them to report to me ASAP, which means I need the transfer orders yesterday. I have four men caught up in a crisis out in a town called Springfield. If they have any hope of being rescued, it is completely dependent upon getting those four soldiers. I'll need their immediate superior's to sign off on it, which shouldn't be difficult if-"

"We could somehow get the Jugglers to have signed off on them already." Sparks finished. Now he understood just why Flagg was being so protective of him. No matter. Flagg was a good man, and he upheld honor above all else. If the only hope for rescue came from Flagg and these four men, so be it. He could always go back and rewrite the court martial into an honorable discharge before it hit the military court anyway. "Count me in, you will have your transfer papers within the hour."

"Sparks, I don't think there is a way that I could ever repay your faithful service all these years." Flagg said. "You're almost like a second son to me."

"Well then, Dad, whatever you do don't get yourself killed before I retire. That'll be repayment enough." Sparks rose from his seat, saluted and then exited Papa Joe's just as Hawk was entering through the door. The General caught sight of Flagg and moved over to his table, unknowingly taking Sparks' seat.

"Sorry I'm early, I wanted to make sure I could find this place before it got late." Hawk said, glancing around the coffee shop. He noticed a lot of military themed decoration and photos of a young man in camouflage fatigues. He could only assume that it was Papa Joe himself.

"On the contrary Hawk, you arrived at just the right time." Flagg leaned forward. "We'll have the documentation we need within the hour, and can proceed from there. Whatever happens after this point Hawk, promise me that you'll never take any of your men for granted."

Hawk looked at Flagg with confusion. "I promise, though why are you asking me to?"

"Because one day the only people in your corner may be the very men who serve under you. It's important that you remember that." Flagg said, drinking from his coffee.


	14. Chapter 13: Selection

Author's Note: This chapter wasn't originally in the outline, but I felt it was necessary to break up some of the Flagg and Hawk heavy segments coming up while introducing the second wave of Joe recruits. Also it gave me a chance to explore Bludd a bit more because I felt that he was starting to fall to the wayside in the piece. I'm noticing little things thus far that I am going to change around when I get to revisions before the .pdf as well, but overall I think the story is progressing very nicely.

Big shout out to rogue-scholar07 who has been with the piece nearly since the beginning with her reviews and inspiration to continue.

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><p>Chapter Thirteen:<p>

Location: Outside Springfield

Ace stumbled awkwardly across the landscape following the directions Agent Faces had given to him. Just as promised, beneath a nearby tree an All Terrain Vehicle had been parked. It was a small four-wheeler type, but that didn't matter to the pilot. His leg was killing him, although he was thankful for the chance to get word back to Flagg about what had happened, and he was thankful for Faces dressing his leg, Ace wanted to deck the man with a fist full of rolled quarters now. Upon reaching the ATV, Ace slowly raised his injured leg over the seat and climbed on board, sticking the keys in the ignition and starting the motor.

The motor stuttered to life, for several tense moments Ace was afraid that the thing wouldn't start and he'd be tracked down again after those Vipers heard the engine starting up. Finally it turned over and Ace was able to launch it forward on the road away from town. He waited until the Welcome to Springfield sign was but a faint memory in his mirror before flipping on the headlight and laying on the gas. He didn't know just how long it would take for him to get to the next nearest town and get hold of a phone, but he'd make it that far and then he'd think about collapsing from blood loss and fatigue.

Location: Springfield

Bludd paced angrily inside his office, he'd received word from Zartan that the prisoners were all locked up and ready for interrogation. First they had located the spy, and now a scouting party had been sent to investigate Springfield. He didn't know how word had gotten out so soon, nor was he sure just what to do in order to keep further information from leaking out. With the spy dealt with, and these new prisoners soon under lock and key Bludd was sure that he would be through with leaks until the time was right.

He turned around and found that Shelly was sitting peacefully at his desk reading a book. He couldn't see the title, though he supposed that it was the Bible she'd been toting around with her throughout the city. That leather bound book Bludd was beginning to despise nearly as much as the broken promises he felt that it contained within its pages. He grumbled and shook his head. Shelly had been much more compliant after the release of her son, though Billy retained no memories of the tests Mindbender had conducted on him. Now he would become the perfect mole to travel the city in places even Zartan wouldn't think to check for information and signs that another advance party had been sent into Springfield.

"What's troubling you Sebastian?" Shelly asked, closing her Bible and setting it down on his desk. "You don't seem as confident as you did once before." At first he thought it could have been sarcasm he detected in her voice, however a single look in her eyes revealed that it was genuine concern.

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft agley," Bludd sighed.

"Robert Burns." Shelly smiled, crossing the room. She put her arms around Bludd and laid her head against his back. "No one can plan for every eventuality. Not even a tiny little mouse like us."

"The recent apprehension of the Army scouts troubles me. I thought that there were people in place to prevent United States Government interruptions, least of all an Army scouting party. We should eliminate the lot of them and then dispose of the bodies somewhere off site. That way they can't be found and traced back to us."

"That's too messy my dear," Shelly mused.

Bludd's spine tingled. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that Zartan had impersonated Shelly just to fool with his head. The woman hadn't been this warm to him since he had left Springfield years ago. Perhaps after all of this time the pair had spent together after his take over she had grown to appreciate him as a man again, or as was more likely Stockholm Syndrome was beginning to set in.

"On second thought then, I have another idea." The corner of Bludd's mouth lifted up in a sinister smirk. He had gone over the Terrordrome blueprints with Scrap Iron and noticed a special area developed for treating prisoners and slaves to a little exercise and action in between cell time and interrogations. "Would you care my dear to join me in watching a little game of sport?"

"Of course Sebastian." Shelly said. "What kind? Springfield only had a football team, and you've taken over the stadium."

"You shall see my dear," Bludd laughed, "you shall see."

Location: Springfield Terrordrome

Stalker stood with his arms folded and his back against the wall. He watched over Snake and Scarlett while they sat on the floor, arms folded as if in prayer and eyes closed. They'd been thrown into a makeshift cell several hours ago, and Scarlett was beginning to lose her cool between Ace and what had happened to Snake. It was no small wonder to Stalker why she had had a desk job back at the Pentagon and not actual field time. Although she had entered the Army with every intention to kill, she was still very much a young woman at heart. It seemed that Snake could pick up on it as well, and was using this opportunity to exorcise some of his own caged demons after the death of his sister.

"I don't know how you and Tommy do it," Stalker said. "I'd fall asleep trying to sit like that."

Snake broke from his trance and shot Stalker a mocking glance, or as much of one that he could give with the head piece on that the medics had put on his face after throwing them in here. The sling Scarlett had used at first was quickly soiled and cast aside for fresh bandages once they were inside the city. A doctor had come by and examined Snake, but didn't spend long on his patient. He would be horribly disfigured on the left side of his face, and the doctor was amazed that he was still alive even after the shrapnel had torn through his throat—severing his vocal chords in the process. It seemed that it was a good thing Stalker was already used to the man barely speaking a word in combat, or elsewhere.

"How's she doing?" Stalker asked.

Snake shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand in a so-so fashion. Before Snake had put her into the trance, Scarlett had mentioned before that she had done some meditative trance studies and meditation activities to try and help her overcome the death of her father. Stalker hoped that those previous experiences were helping her to get a level head and keep from loosing her edge before the battle had even begun.

The sound of footsteps could be head down the hall. Stalker came off of the wall at the same moment Snake rose from the floor and both men reached the cell bars in the same instant. From down the hall two Viper guards approached the cell with a man in Battle Dress Uniform and an eye patch over his right eye. He looked at the two men and then pointed to Snake. "This one, he should prove challenging enough."

"Yes Major," one of the Vipers said while the other used his weapon to ensure Stalker and Snake would not try and escape when the bars were opened.


	15. Chapter 14:  Kreiger

Author's Note: I had originally wanted Cover Girl to be involved in a much more in depth job on the Humvee, but I couldn't find specs for one online to at least give accurate information. Originally I had wanted to cast Lady Jaye in the piece, but she didn't have some of the qualities that I wanted in the female opposite Scarlett, so I went with a friend of mine's suggestion and went with Cover Girl instead. Let's just hope that she doesn't meet the same meaningless death that her G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra incarnation did...

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><p>Chapter Fourteen:<p>

Location: Fort Hama

Courtney Krieger lay back on her metal creeper, rolling it beneath Humvee 07. The undercarriage was unbearably dirty and caked on mud filled every nook and cranny. She picked up her wrench and used it to knock some of the mud away, covering herself with just as much of the substance as she knocked off. According to the log sheet, the last person to have the vehicle out in the field was Steinberg and Graves. She rolled her eyes, wondering just what kind of crazy maneuvers those two would have pulled. More than likely they'd used it to ride around town and try to pick up some women while in uniform.

There were times she really hated being an Army mechanic. She hated being a female Army mechanic even worse because most the others thought of her as just another one of the guys, or even worse, as one of the guys they could flirt with and see how far she'd let them get. The last guy who'd tried to push her limits found himself in traction with all four limbs suspended in large casts. She'd earned herself a little time in the brig for her actions, but it was well worth it.

She rolled the creeper along and started brushing more of the mud away. Steinberg had the Humvee brought back on a flatbed, not sure just what he'd done to make it stop running right. It was an odd excuse, considering the man always bragged about his time at Manny's Mean Machines before enlisting. If he didn't talk about women, he'd talk about cars and just what kind of work he'd done on them. So, just how did the macho driver foul up her baby? Krieger felt around blindly until she found one likely culprit.

"Son of a..." she groaned and slid the creeper back out from under the Humvee. In her hand she held what tiny fragments remained of the oil plug. Barely a couple threads on a sliver of the bolt had survived, and she could tell by the condition of the bolt's head that he had bottomed out somewhere with the Humvee and sheered the bolt right off. She wished she could sheer his head right of his shoulders sometimes, no matter just how good of a soldier he was.

Kreiger walked across the motor pool to find herself a replacement bolt in parts storage. It really was surprising just how often something so simple as an oil pan bolt had to be replaced around Fort Hama. She fished the keyring from her fatigue pants and unlocked the huge padlock on the door before her. The mechanic pulled the door open and stepped inside, glancing from side to side at all of the spare vehicle parts surrounding her. Along the wall were assorted bins labeled with thread dimensions and wrench sizes for bolts and studs necessary for repairs. She quickly sorted through them all and located the one necessary for the Humvee repair and exited the parts locker, locking it once again behind her.

When Kreiger turned around, she discovered that she was no longer alone in the motor pool Two men in uniform were standing by the entrance taking a look around while Steinberg was poking his head about, presumably looking for her. At first she ignored all of them, dropped back down onto the creeper and rolled far enough under to install the new drain plug. She'd have to go over to one of the other lockers in a minute to find proper lubricants and other fluids, while she was draining one she may as well do the full workup before Steinberg screwed it up again.

"Hey Kreiger, you around?" Steinberg asked. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, all right?"

She continued the silent treatment, torquing the bolt by hand and sliding back out from under the Humvee. She stood up, coming face to face with Steinberg as she did so. Kreiger sighed, putting her hands on her hips as she wanted for what the man had to say. "Whatever it is, make it quick. I've got a complete work up to finish after your stunts the other night."

"That's what I wanted to apologize for, babe." he said, "I know you care about these vehicles like they were your children, and I did really mess up number seven. I'm sorry I screwed her up, and I'm willing to be the better man and help you out."

"I don't know much about better, but you'd be the man all right." Kreiger said. She relaxed, motioning over to the two men at the entrance. "Who're they?"

"That's another thing I needed to find you for. They're two generals looking for a couple people on base, and you're one of them. They've got orders from on high that you're to pack your gear and depart with them." Steinberg said. "You'll be in good hands, I promise."

"It's not their hand's I'm worried about." Kreiger laughed. "I'm not sure I can trust your hands to take care of my babies while I'm away, you might give them the wrong fuel or destroy another drain plug. Make sure you take good care of number seven, seeing as you're the one that put her here."

Steinberg rubbed the back of his head and shrugged his shoulders. Kreiger left him to do the remainder of her work while she approached the two generals. She saluted crisply before introducing herself. "Specialist Courtney Kreiger reporting for duty, Sirs."

"At ease Specialist Kreiger. I'm General Flagg, this is my attache General Hawk. You'll have to forgive us that we don't have a lot of extra time for lengthy introductions. We can get better acquainted once the others are together and we can go over the operation details once. I want you to go back to your barracks, gather your things and report back to me at the main gates within thirty minutes. Is that understood, Specialist?"

"Yes Sir." Kreiger about faced and departed, leaving Flagg and Hawk to stand by and watch as Steinberg played around with the Humvee. He had already gathered the oil and was pouring it into the engine, tossing the bottles to the floor as he did so.


	16. Chapter 15:  Kibbey

Author's Note: I completely forgot to post this chapter when I had it done! I had already uploaded chapters 16 and 17 here on fanfiction(dot)net, and hadn't realized that I completely sidestepped 15. Well, before I posted them out of order I got back on and fixed that. So here is chapter 15, part of a triple upload for your viewing pleasure!

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><p>Chapter Fifteen:<p>

Location: Fort Hama

Alvin Kibbey propped his feet up on the communications console and scratched his beard. The thing had been itching like crazy since yesterday and he had no idea why, except perhaps the heat wave Fort Hama had been recently struck with. That, or Sergeant Sneeden's death marches across the obstacle course. Kibbey leaned back in his seat a bit farther. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that Sneeden had more to do with his itchy beard than the environment alone. He took a drink from his can of Joe Cola and continued watching monitors above him, one of which showed two generals departing from the motor pool after Courtney Kreiger darted off toward the women's barracks.

The last time he'd seen Kreiger moving that fast was when she'd gotten clumsily asked out by Steinberg to go see one of those Fast and Furious movies. He remembered seeing her lying on the floor laughing uncontrollably at the idea he'd even consider he going to see one of those films, much less with him. Something had to be up between her and the generals if she was moving toward the barracks that quickly indeed.

Kibbey leaned forward and grabbed the phone from on the console in front of him. He dialed the extension for the main entrance guard station and waited for the young kid on duty to pick up. After several rings, he finally answered.

"Gate station one-oh-one, Breckenridge." The kid had a thick southern accent that Kibbey could only conclude came from rural Kentucky.

"Yeah Breckenridge, did you happen to catch the two brass on base when they started their visit? They just left the motor pool and it looks like they're headed toward the Mess Hall now. I can't get a good enough angle on the cameras to catch their faces."

"Sure did Kibbey, it's General Flagg and his aid General Abernathy." Breckenridge sounded proud of himself for catching their identities before the communications expert could have.

"Thanks." Kibbey hung up the receiver and returned to the communications console. At least now he had a couple names to go off of. He hadn't heard any news down the pipeline about generals visiting Fort Hama, nor had he heard anything about a change of commanding officers. He slid down the long console to a small data terminal and started inputting General Flagg and General Abernathy's names for a file search.

Kibbey glanced back up at the main monitor displaying smaller screens of various security camera feeds around the fort. As he suspected, Flagg and Abernathy entered the Mess Hall and started asking around for someone. Most of the enlisted men that they asked could only shake their heads or shrug their shoulders. With the stroke of a knob and keying of command prompts, Kibbey selected the audio feed for the Mess Hall so he could listen in for what the generals were asking.

"We're looking for Specialist Marvin Hinton." General Flagg said. "Have any of you men seen him?"

"What would they want with ol' Roadblock Hinton?" Kibbey asked himself. Sure the man was a great heavy weapons specialist, none better than him in the entire US Army as far as Kibbey was concerned. But Roadblock was something else on top of that, a extraordinary cook. The man could make even MREs taste like luxury meals instead of dehydrated cardboard.

"I think he's out at the firing range," a voice called out from across the Mess Hall. "Showing a few of the newbies some of the finer points in heavy weapons control."

General Flagg turned around to find a man sitting with one leg propped up on the table and brim of his jungle hat covering his brow. He couldn't see the man's eyes behind dark sunglasses, but he could see the Staff Sergeant bars adorning the man's sleeves. Lannotti was his name. "Thanks, Staff Sergeant." Flagg waved for Hawk to follow and they departed from the Mess Hall.

Kibbey decided that he'd had enough sitting behind the computer console for one day and spun his chair around, preparing to venture forth into Fort Hama and follow after the two visiting Generals. One was not an effective communications specialist if one could not break away and gather intelligence the old fashioned way after all. He rose from his seat but before he could take a step away, the door opened and Duke rushed inside.

"Kibbey, word is that the visiting generals want to see you."

"You're kidding." Kibbey said. "I thought they were looking for Roadblock."

"Him too. They asked me to help them round up the other soldiers on their orders. You're going to have some fun Kibbey." Duke said, chuckling.

"Why? What'd I do now?"

"I don't know how you got signed up for this, but it's going to be you, Kreiger, Hinton and Sneeden heading off grounds with temporary transfers." The fact that Kibbey's cocky demeanor faded when Sneeden's name was mentioned put a bit more of a smirk on Duke's face.

Kibbey shuddered at the thought of going away on a mission with Sneeden of all people. The guy was a damn fine soldier, probably even saved his life once or twice. But the man had a superiority complex that made most men cringe in fear. Not only was Sneeden physically imposing in his own right, he made it his mission in life to make any of those who served with him extreme fighting machines. The anti-thesis of the typical slacker like Kibbey. He nervously reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum.

"This day just gets better and better, I'm telling you Duke..."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Duke said. "Now General Flagg and General Abernathy are expecting to meet up with you and Kreiger at the main gates while they round up Hinton and Sneeden. I suggest you pack your gear and not keep them waiting."

"All right Duke, I'm going. I'm going!" Kibbey started moving for the door, not noticing Duke slipping into his seat and playing with the consoles to pick up History Channel programming. He leaned back in the chair, resting his hands behind his head and watched another episode of R. Lee Ermey's Role Call.

As Kibbey made it out the door he noticed Kreiger was already on her way to the main gates with a duffel and rucksack on her back. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore the heavy leather jacket her brother had sent her some time back. She paused long enough to give a friendly wave, and wink, to Kibbey before continuing on.

"This had better be important," Kibbey said, "or at least simple. Either way, at least the scenery will be fair, and I know the food will be good with Roadblock involved." A sneaky smile spread over his lips and the communications specialist was inside the barracks grabbing his gear.


	17. Chapter 16:  Hinton

Author's Note: I have to apologize for both this chapter and the next one for the fact that I've had them done and not submitted for a couple weeks now. I also want to apologize that they were shorter than the others as well. For some reason I just couldn't quite get the same treatment for the two of them that I got with Cover Girl and Breaker. However, the good news is that I've got several pages written on chapter 18 so far and should hopefully have it finished in the next couple of days.

I welcome any suggestions that you, my readers, may have to improve this chapter and the next one. I'm also debating when I get this far into the rewrite if I'm going to a) rewrite the chapters, b) combine and shorten the chapters, or c) gloss over them and just have everyone meet up at the base before leaving. As always, any comments are indeed helpful :)

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><p>Chapter Sixteen:<p>

Location: Fort Hama

General Flagg trod across freshly cut grass with Hawk in tow behind him. As promised, they found Specialist Hinton conducting shooting exercises out at the gun range. There were several two man teams hunkered down behind a wall of sandbags. Issued to each team was an M240 heavy machine gun. The weapon seemed heavier and bulkier than the M60 he was more accustomed to seeing in his younger days. Hinton stood before the sandbags, pounding his fist into his hand for emphasis as he spoke about the proper belt feeding and firing procedures. Flagg wasn't about to interrupt instruction to pull the man away.

"You break procedure while handling this equipment," Hinton raised a brow, "and the equipment will break your face. It's like a woman, if you treat her poorly she won't take care of you when you need her most. Now, gentlemen load your weapons."

Flagg watched as each man flipped open the top of their weapon, inserted the disintegrating belt of ammunition and slammed the chamber closed again. The second man in each team took position with the gun stock against their shoulder, one arm bracing the weapon and the other on the trigger waiting for orders.

"Excellent," Hinton said, "now take a few shots at your targets across the range."

As the firing commenced, Hinton looked over and caught sight of General Flagg and Hawk standing by watching his instruction. He moved away from the teams, glanced back over his shoulder to ensure that the teams were reloading properly, and offered his hand to General Flagg.

"Good afternoon General, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Hinton asked.

"Specialist Hinton, we have orders for you." General Flagg said, producing the documents for Hinton to inspect. "We have come to collect you and three of your comrades for a special mission, during which time you are going to be temporarily assigned to our unit."

"So I see," Hinton read over the transfer paperwork. "What's the mission for, Sir?"

"We'll go over all of the relevant information once the team is composed and en route to their destination." Hawk stepped forward. "We have some men that need to be brought back home, and a show of force may be necessary."

"Well then you've come to the right place," Hinton gave a thumbs up. "This group's shooting drill will be over in twenty minutes if you'd like to wait around, otherwise I will meet you wherever you want."

"We're rounding all four of you up at the main gate ASAP. Once you've concluded instruction, hoof it back to your barracks to procure any gear you will need and report to the gate. Meanwhile, we're going to locate the final member of the team." General Flagg said.

"May I ask who, Sir? I may be able to point you in his direction."

"Sneeden, Wayne R." Flagg responded.

"Sneed?" Hinton laughed. "'Round these parts you don't find Sneeden, it's a toss up between whether or not trouble or Sneeden find you first. However, around this time I believe he should be out giving PT to some of the new recruits."

"Very well," Hawk said shaking Hinton's hand. "I'll make my way toward the obstacle course and locate Sneeden now."


	18. Chapter 17:  Sneeden

Author's Note: As I stated with the previous chapter, I'm sorry that these two are shorter than the others. I'm hoping the next couple of chapters make up for that, as well as the characterization that we did get in these shorter pieces. Sometimes it sucks having work and trying to balance the rest of your life around that. Though, as I said before I should have another chapter up much sooner than it took me to get these ones up. cheers!

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><p>Chapter Seventeen<p>

Location: Fort Hama

Wayne R. Sneeden stood by, arms crossed as he watched the new recruits hustling across the obstacle course starting line. Twelve of the greenest, weakest soldiers he'd ever seen in his life. He'd make it his personal mission to weed out at least one third of those men, Section 8 them if he had to, because if these men couldn't survive him at home they sure as hell weren't going to survive the enemy out in the world.

"You green beans outta appreciate this next one," Sneeden shouted, "all you have to do is get from here to over there. You have five minutes, and mind the booby traps." The sight of the men's faces sinking at the mention of booby traps caused him to smirk behind his balaclava mask. Yet another thing Sneeden did to hasten the washout rate; he never removed that mask during missions or physical training so as to resemble an executioner with ax at the ready.

Already one of the men fell face first into the mud, an unfortunate victim of the rubber tire jog. That was child's play in Sneeden's eyes. All you had to do was watch your feet and make sure no one was about to push you over so they could get by. Private Nobody just earned himself a nail in the proverbial coffin. Sneeden added a hatch mark on his mental checklist of recruits.

"It's not that difficult recruits!" Sneeden continued shouting. "I could make it more interesting with live ammunition if you want, I'm sure it'll speed the process up just fine." Perhaps he was going a bit too far with that one, but perhaps not. He'd been out there on the front lines, he'd seen men not move fast enough before being torn to ribbons by RPG fire and mortars. He'd seen good men blown away seconds before reaching the safety of a chopper or APC. He'd also had to write his fair share of apology letters back home when his men didn't make it back home.

"Interesting approach you have," Hawk stepped forward and waited behind Sneeden. The sergeant turned around with a glare and a temper, that is until he noticed the stars on Hawk's shoulders and crisply saluted.

"Thank you General Abernathy." Sneeden lowered his salute and turned back to watch the recruits on their run. Private Nobody was in the lead now, Private Muscles was too busy showing off in front of Private Boop while she tried to climb the netting tower. Sometimes nicknames made it easier to dehumanize the troops; made it easier to distance himself from the fact that these were human beings he was breaking down and putting back together again. He didn't give a damn about their personal feelings, much less their opinion of him. Sneeden just wanted to ensure that those he broke could go back into society and not kill someone, and that the ones who didn't break come out of the meat grinder that much stronger for the fight.

"I'd ask if you thought you were being too rough on these kids, but I already know the answer to that." Hawk shrugged, remembering the personal notes in Sneeden's dossier. He was beginning to see just what the comments and reports were about. This man could very well have been a Spartan in a past life, if one believed in reincarnation that is. "Your record and reputation hold firm Sneeden."

"Glad to hear it, General. To what do I owe the pleasure, Sir?" Sneeden turned back, recrossing his arms. There was a tough tone to his voice, Hawk wasn't sure if that was an attitude or if the man always sounded like he was going to tear someone a new one.

"General Flagg and I have been tasked with collecting four individuals from Fort Hama to go on a black project mission. We've got men missing in action, and we need a few good men to find them again." Hawk answered. "You're one of those men, Sneeden. The others should be just about ready and waiting on us."

"Interesting." Sneeden said. "Who are the others?"

"In good time, Sergeant." Hawk replied. "Let your men finish out their run, and then grab your gear. We're rounding everyone up at the main gate and shipping out to catch a flight."


	19. Chapter 18: Arena

Author's Note: Here I am again, the author's note apologizing for the long wait for the current chapter. It sat on Rei's computer half finished for nearly a month as he got caught up in a lot of things outside in the real world. Seriously though, I do apologize that it's taken me some time to get this chapter rolled out. Some good news however, while I was busy offline I did manage to get a promotion at work which alters my hours and days at work to hopefully give me a chance to get more writing done SOONER rather than later. Please enjoy this new installment!

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><p>Chapter Eighteen:<p>

Location: Springfield

The two Vipers led Snake down an unremarkable hallway at gunpoint. His hands were bound at the wrist, the cuffs tugging roughly against his skin.

He glanced around him, trying to size up what was coming next. He knew that these men were taking him someplace where he'd have to fight. That much he was sure of, given their conversation with the one they called "Major". He also needed to do something about his vision problem, he didn't care whether or not he could talk now, but he did need to ensure that he could see while fighting. Before the Vipers could take him down another hall, Snake paused and raised his arms just enough to pull off the bandage that Scarlett had put around his face. The Vipers stopped, one doubled over and nearly vomited at the sight of Snake's face.

Snake glared at the second Viper, pointing at their face and then his own. The Viper looked completely confused until Snake pantomimed putting on a mask and pair of glasses. Then the Viper understood. "Hey, give the man your goggles." he told the other Viper.

"Why the hell should I do that?" the second Viper demanded, wiping his mouth.

"Because, if you don't he's just going to keep walking around like a horror show exhibit come to life. Now give the man your damn goggles and balaclava. Or else, I'm gonna tell everyone else about your nerves and the mess you just made." he chuckled. Seconds later, Snake was donning a black balaclava and pair of goggles over his decimated face.

"Get your ass moving." The Viper nudged Snake along with his rifle, he resisted the urge to strike back and kill the both of these men. It wouldn't do any good for him, or Stalker and Scarlett. For now, he was just going to have to play along and hope that he'd survive whatever it was that they were going to throw at him.

"So what will tonight's entertainment be, mate?" Major Bludd took his seat above the small arena. At first he'd thought M.A.R.S. had flipped their lid including something they called the "Arena of Sport", however the reason for its inclusion was already becoming quite clear to him now. Beside him was Shelly in a long gown, in her lap she continued carrying her Bible. Standing nearby was Zartan, appearing with what Bludd could only assume was the mercenary's real face.

"You selected the deformed prisoner, Major. I've elected to be rid of a few more of our problems at the same time. Per your orders, I hand picked four of our strongest subjects and had Mindbender do a little extra brain manipulation. They will be equipped with knives, a small handgun and their own brute strength. Also, for your enjoyment I've arranged for a special guest fighter; the captured Agent Faces!"

"Excellent." Bludd folded his hands together. "Then shall we begin? I'm eager to see just how good this fight is going to be."

"Right away Major," there was a hint of disgust in Zartan's voice. He didn't know if Bludd detected it or not, but he didn't think so. Astute was not a word best used to describe the mercenary, and the loss of his eye certainly didn't do much to help the man's perception. Zartan waved his arms above his head, signaling the Crimson Guards below that it was time to unleash the combatants. Four men dressed in normal civilian clothes entered the ring, looking around as though they were lost while a fifth man dressed in Crimson Guard uniform entered after them. From the opposite end of the arena, below Bludd's feet, Snake was shoved into the arena with no weapon or clue what was about to begin.

"Good evening Gentlemen," Bludd announced from on high. "Welcome to the Arena of Sport. You have all been selected from among many poorly qualified and even less skilled applicants to provide entertainment for the evening. Let me give you the ground rules: there are no rules, and the last man standing continues to live another day. Begin!"

Snake turned in time to see the others charging dead at him. His first instinct was to reach for his sidearm, which was no longer there. One of the men in the lead fired several shots at him, each one going wide and impacting the ground at his feet or somewhere in the wall behind him. Snake took off running, five against one wasn't going to work well for him without any weapons or a plan; at least not at first.

"Get that masked man!" one of the others shouted.

Snake ran toward one of the surrounding walls, nearly ten feet tall and solid steel. There wasn't going to be any breaking out through the wall, or shooting through it as the case would seem. However, there was another function that the wall could serve if he timed the maneuvers just right. He took another glance over his shoulder, spying the leader of the pack barreling right for him. After taking several large steps away from the wall, Snake darted toward it and used his momentum to carry him right up the wall and into the air. He flipped over the first man, used their shoulders as a springboard and hit the ground running once again.

"What the hell is he doing?" Bludd asked. "This is no time for circus acrobatics!"

"He was your choice, Major." Zartan smiled. "He either has a plan, or he's just going to tire himself out before the mob rips him limb from limb."

"Perhaps," Bludd mused.

Another gunshot whizzed past Snake's ear, nearly striking him in the throat before punching a hole in the wall beside him. Each man was armed, he didn't know just how well armed but he knew they each had a handgun with an average of fifteen shots. That was a lot of bullets to try and dodge, and a very dangerous game of chance when they finally decided to start teaming up against him. He needed to find a way to start taking those guns out of the equation, and fast.

The arena was a long oval shape, the best approximation Snake could generate was fifty yards across and he likened it in his mind to Roman chariot race style design. There were no obstructions that he could hide behind, which meant that he was just going to have to try and corner one before the others could catch up and finish him off. How was he going to pull that off?

Snake stopped, turned back to face the oncoming crowd and this time he charged back at them. The rush of angry combatants never slowed or showed signs of surprise. Snake dodged in between two of them, slammed a third down to the ground and launched himself into the fourth. He tackled the man with a long arm, sending the combatant to the ground. Snake spun around, driving an uppercut into the final man—the one in red—and used his second hand to draw the knife from the man's belt before pushing on. He'd only slowed them down, but now he at least had a weapon to work with.

"After him you fools!" Bludd jumped to his feet, waving his fist.

"Patience Major, patience." Zartan grinned broadly.

The combatants quickly rose to their feet and started back after Snake. The man in red snatched one of the others before they were out of arms reach and motioned for them to follow. They broke away from the three others and charged in the opposite direction. They were going to try and trap Snake in a pincer. Snake ran, pumping his legs as hard as he could to escape the mob. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a red blur running parallel to him. He glanced to the side and saw the other two men coming at him from another direction.

Damn, Snake thought, they're already starting to plan group tactics. He looked back over his shoulder. The other three combatants were nearly on top of him. Snake changed direction and started toward the center of the arena, knife at the ready in his hand. Bullets ricocheted all around him as both groups of men opened fire. Snake knew that somewhere above him Major Bludd was looking down at the fight, and he wanted to give the mercenary something special. He looked up, saw the observation post and drew the knife back to throw.

"What the hell is he doing?" Bludd shouted.

"Don't concern yourself Major," Zartan answered. "Even if the man were an expert knife thrower, the arena is too low for him to successfully throw it at you." The confident smirk returned to his face, even though he secretly wished it weren't true. He'd love to see the prisoner give Bludd a knife to the chest.

Snake threw the knife, which sailed through the empty arena and struck the steel wall. Major Bludd cackled at the sight, forgetting moments ago that he'd been afraid the prisoner would have been able to send the weapon anywhere near him. However, that did not deter the prisoner from his mission. Still charging forward, Snake jumped up before he could slam into the wall and ran up it much like before. He grabbed the knife back out of the wall and pushed off. He flew for only a matter of seconds, it was long enough for him to throw the knife once again. It struck one of the combatants in the chest and they fell to the floor.

"Bravo!" Bludd rose to his feet clapping his hands.

Snake tumbled to the ground and rolled back onto his feet. The two remaining combatants in that group looked up from their fallen comrade in time to see Snake coming for them. They both opened fire, Snake dodged the bullets and moved in between them. He swept the legs out from under one of them while snatching the other by his gun hand. He maneuvered the gun so that it shot the second man while lying on the ground before spinning its owner around and wrapping his arms around the man's neck. Snake's adversary struggled for only seconds before his protest was cut off with a series of breaking vertebrae.

"I'll be damned," Zartan said, his confident smirk now vanishing for good. He didn't care if the prisoner won the battle or not, what he did care about was whether or not the prisoner could get loose before Bludd decided what he wanted done with him. He had no intentions of running across this man as an enemy.

Snake leaned over the three dead men, snatching up one of the handguns and checking through their clips. Collectively, he'd only have about ten shots remaining. Under fire was not a good time to try and reallocate all the rounds into one magazine so he took all three and turned to look at the man in red and the other plain clothes combatant. He was going to have to kill these men, and he was not going to like it. He raised the handgun and fired, the first shot went wide and missed both men entirely. The second achieved similar less than desirable results. The third round struck the man in red in his knee, dropping him as the final combatant continued moving forward.

The fifth man drew his own knife and hurled it at Snake, who expertly side stepped the spinning blade. He pulled back on the trigger, the handgun clicked empty. Snake about faced, ejecting the spent clip while doing so and started running again. Calmly he took one of the two remaining clips and slammed it home into the gun. He turned, fired and once again missed. Snake fired once more and the shot tore through his opponent's shoulder but they kept on coming. He fired again, this shot slammed into the center of their chest and they faltered for a moment. Snake took aim once more and fired just to the left of his last shot; this time they fell for good. Snake threw the weapon down and crossed the arena to where the man in red was lying.

Faces stared up at Snake with nothing but hatred in his eyes. He was grabbing his knee, blood pouring out through his fingers. "Go ahead and finish me you bastard!" he said.

Snake dropped to one knee beside the man and tried to examine the wound, but Faces kept pushing him away refusing the help. He swung his arm wide to strike Snake, but Snake's much quicker reflexes caught the man's arm and pinned it behind his back. Once again he tried to address the wound.

Bludd was impressed. He knew that at least one or two of the Springfield people would be slain in this fight, but he had not expected that the prisoner would slaughter them all. What he wasn't sure about was why he'd stopped to provide aid to the captured agent. Bludd didn't know if these two had known each other outside of the moment, or if it was perhaps some guilt felt by the prisoner that compelled him to do so.

"Clearly you weren't paying attention to the rules," Bludd rose to his feet and drew his side arm. "I told you that only one may live to see another day." He took careful aim and fired, putting a high velocity round through Agent Face's throat. Blood violently spread in all directions as the man tried to speak, gurgling as blood also spilled from his mouth.

Snake lowered the body and turned around to face Bludd, fixing the man with a death glare hidden behind his mask. He didn't know how, or when, but he was going to make the man pay for each and every life that had been snuffed out in this arena today.


	20. Chapter 19:

Chapter Nineteen:

Location: Fort Wadsworth

General Flagg lead the procession down through monotonous corridors until finally reaching the War Room. He held the door open and cleared his throat as the others entered. "I apologize for the lack of accommodations, but we're still working on getting funding."

Sneeden entered first, glancing about the room appreciatively as though it were more than he had been expecting from the beginning. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head in approval. Hinton was next, he only shrugged his shoulders at the sight of a rectangular table and half dozen metal folding chairs situated beside a rolling white board currently covered in photographs. Krieger started toward the table, Hinton pulled out a chair which she accepted with a smile.

"Not much of a War Room you got here General," Kibbey chuckled. He popped another piece of chewing gum into his mouth and stared at the dusty steel walls that reminded him of a giant office cubicle. "It doesn't even have a telephone, much less computer. It looks like this place has been in moth balls since the late nineteen eighties or nineties."

Flagg shook his head, it appeared that the man's whit wasn't as sharp as his technological expertise. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. "The early nineteen nineties, actually. However, the status of our current base of operations is irrelevant to what lies ahead of us and the reason why I gathered you all together."

"What is the reason, General?" Sneeden asked, he was the only member of the team still standing. "We all shared bits and pieces of the puzzle we picked up from you and Abernathy with the promise of the whole picture when we arrived."

"If you will direct your attention the the board everyone, I will try and lay out all of the details." Flagg motioned to the whiteboard and a set of photographs. They were satellite photographs take of Springfield, and several aerial photographs that gave an overall layout of the small city. Some of the images also revealed what Flagg could only speculate were military weaponry, though the images were not clear enough to reveal just what kind of weaponry they were.

"Approximately forty eight hours ago, General Hawk and myself green lit an infiltration operation into the city of Springfield. Upon arrival they were attacked and taken prisoner by a suspected terrorist group under the command of Major Sebastian Bludd." Flagg began. "A covert operative on the inside, codename Agent Faces, has been slowly feeding us intelligence on the group and their activities."

"Has your source given any more information after the team's capture?" Sneeden asked.

"No," Flagg responded, "except to say that the chopper was hit and the team was taken captive. Which is why I have brought you all together. We need a second team to get boots on the ground and rescue the others while also gathering physical proof of the terrorist group's presence that we can take forward to the Jugglers."

"Why do the Jugglers need proof, Sir?" Sneeden asked. "For us to even be talking about this operation, they would have had to have given the green light to you. Are you telling me," he looked back over his shoulder, "telling us all that our orders aren't through official channels?"

"Yes and no, Sneeden." Flagg sighed, putting his hat down on the table. "On paper your orders are completely official and will in no means affect any of you on this mission. However, if any of the officers responsible for your orders were approached about their signing off on this mission they will deny any knowledge of it."

"Then the operation is completely under the radar?" Sneeden uncrossed his arms and leaned over the table, looking directly into Flagg's eyes. "How can we be sure that our insertion is going to go any better than the team before us? What happened that caused the first group of men to get captured that won't happen to the rest of us?"

"There has been no further communication with our source on the inside. The last message Faces sent to us seemed cryptic, and suggested to me that there must have been a mole working for the other side as well. In the event that was the case, there has been no word to anyone about this operation except for Hawk, myself and a contact close to the brass who helped secure your orders." Flagg answered.

"I'd like to recommend that we not go for the aerial insertion technique this time around, General." Sneeden said. "I think it would be much more effective if the team moves into the city on foot, it'd attract a lot less attention than another chopper."

"I agree with your logic Sneeden," Flagg said.

The War Room door opened and Hawk entered, his face betrayed signs of panic. "I just got word, Armbuster has been picked up and transported to an Army hospital. He's pretty messed up and has been demanding to see us."

"Get the Humvee ready Hawk, Sneeden I want you to ride along with us. The rest of you will find gear in the armory, I want you packed and ready for transport when the three of us return. I don't want to waste any more time than our people have left."

Flagg pushed past the nurse trying to bar his way into the room, Hawk stalled her outside while Sneeden followed their commanding officer into Armbuster's room. The man was lying in bed, one leg wrapped in bandages and the other dangling over the side of his bed. Splayed out on the table beside him a deck of bicycle playing cards and a cup of water. As Flagg entered, the soldier pushed himself upright in bed and saluted.

"You can worry about saluting later Armbuster, what I need now is information." Flagg crossed his arms over his chest and heard Sneeden close the door behind them.

"In a nutshell sir, they somehow knew we were coming." Armbuster said. "I was bringing the chopper in to drop the team off, then the next thing I know we have a SAM flying right at us. We went down, Snake managed to drag me and Scarlett out of the Black Hawk before it crashed and then there were forces on the ground waiting for us."

"What kind of forces?" Sneeden asked.

"Heavily armed. Half of them were fitted with SWAT team gear and heavy firepower. The others were in some weird red uniforms with helmets that masked their faces. They were paramilitary types. One of them shot me in the leg and then told me to get out of there because he was your inside man, some guy calling himself Faces."

"Thank you son, I'll leave you to your rest now. We'll need you back on your feet as soon as possible." Flagg said, motioned to Sneeden and left the room. Outside the nurse threatened to go and call security in spite of Hawk's diplomacy until he saw the others emerge from Armbuster's room.

"Let's get back to the Pit, we need to get the team airborne as soon as possible." Flagg said.

"What should we be grabbing exactly?" Kreiger asked. "It's not like we're trying to take over a small country, Roadblock!" she turned back to Hinton who was lifting an M60 heavy machine gun with a smile on his face. She tucked her shirt in and fastened a twin hip holster over her waist, slipping two Desert Eagle pistols in place. Beside on her on the bench was a rucksack with spare magazines, medic kit and explosives.

"Expect the unexpected Kreiger," Hinton replied. "I'm sure our friends in Springfield aren't going to play nice if we hit'm with nothing but pop guns and harsh language."

"Speak for yourself Roadblock," Kibbey snickered. "I just wanna slip between them, shut down any tech they've got going for them and get the hell out of dodge. We gotta find the others, grab a little proof that these folks ain't the friend making kind and get back home before someone up the chain of command gets wind of our actions. The louder we make the booms, the more trouble we'll have when we get back."

Hinton narrowed his eyes. "At least they won't be getting back up again after I hit'm."

"I don't want to hear anything about hitting," Flagg entered the room. "I just want our men out of there safely, and hopefully some physical proof to get the folks on capitol hill off of their butts to do something about Bludd and his men."

"Yes sir!" the three of them turned and saluted.


	21. Chapter 20:

Chapter Twenty

Location: Springfield, USA.

"We're just outside of the drop zone now," Sikorski shouted over the rotor noise. He turned to gauge Hawk's reaction. He could tell that Flagg's aid was slightly nervous to be flying outside of Springfield air space after the fate of their first mission. Knowing the reception that the first team met, it was decided that the second group would be dropped two miles outside of Springfield where they would then proceed on foot.

Roadblock was already opening the Black Hawk's side door and affixing the zip line for his companions. Beachhead was barking out orders, he would be the first down the wire—noone was going into hostile territory before a Ranger could set foot on the ground—then Breaker, Cover Girl and Roadblock would be the last. It should take the team less than fifteen minutes to cover two miles distance and sneak their way inside the town.

"Remember Beachhead, this is an extraction mission first and foremost. We want you all to come back alive, intelligence is secondary consideration." Hawk said.

"I understand, Sir." Beachhead nodded, clipped himself into the zip line and disappeared from sight. Moments later, the others were on the ground with him and the Black Hawk veered away, returning in the same direction that it had come. "Time to form up people, I've got point and Roadblock's got the rear guard."

Cover Girl ducked down, trying to get a visual on the outskirts of Springfield. She could see the town population sign a mile down the road, and the light pollution from inside the city limits. It wasn't difficult to keep pace behind the sergeant, Lord knew the man drilled each of them enough to ensure they could move faster than normal even without his verbal abuse. Something about the sight ahead of them bothered her. They were moving into a heavily populated area, which should have just as much sound pollution filling the air as it did light pollution. She couldn't hear so much as a revving car engine coming from Springfield.

"It's too quiet," Breaker said as though reading Cover Girl's mind. "Cities were never meant to be this quiet." He unwrapped a piece of bubblegum and was about to place it in his mouth when Beachhead turned and cocked his head. The communications officer had a habit of blowing large bubbles which tended to pop rather loudly. He wrapped the gum up again and stuffed it in his pocket.

Minutes later the team was standing on the outskirts of Springfield. It looked like a fortress. Beachhead noted several installations of missile batteries, and small blue vehicle like emplacements that he couldn't identify. They reminded him of Anti-Aircraft cannons, though these were set up more like small automobiles with twin guns. He waved for the others to follow him while he got a closer look at the weapon.

"Lookit that," Breaker said as he dug in his shirt pocket. He pulled out a small camera and snapped two quick photos, one was of a serial number stenciled on the side of the weapon and the other was of a manufacturer's name: MARS. He pocketed the camera as quickly as he'd drawn it.

Headlights approached from somewhere down the street from them, causing Beachhead to push Breaker back behind the weapon installation. A black Humvee rode past with a man in blue riot gear behind the wheel. Another man in similar attire stood in the gun turret atop the vehicle. The team ducked low until the Humvee passed them by and they quickly moved deeper into the city streets.

"Where do you suppose they're keeping the others?" Cover Girl asked. "I doubt we'd find them in the local jail, it'd be too obvious."

"Quiet Cover Girl," Beachhead snapped. "We'll have time for that in a moment, first things first. We need to get our bearings and figure out where—" he paused at the massive domed structure standing in the near distance. At one time it could have been a sports arena, however Beachhead rather doubted that was what the building served as now. Towers stood on the outer perimeter of the dome, machine gun emplacements were nestled atop each one. It eerily reminded him of the bunkers at Omaha Beach.

Somewhere nearby Breaker heard the sound of someone whistling loudly. He turned to his left and saw someone approaching from the south. It was a man in his late thirties, bearded, and he was wearing dungarees that the Navy had returned several years before. He wore his cap slightly tilted to the side, and he carried a fishing rod against his shoulder as though it were a rifle. Breaker was about to say something when he saw Beachhead wave them down a side street, reluctantly he followed and ignored the approaching sailor for now.

"Whatever that thing is," Beachhead pointed toward the dome, "it isn't an original part of this city. I think it's safe to assume that our friends are being held inside, as it would be too obvious to seek out the local jail." Cover Girl grinned, it wasn't often that the sergeant gave an indirect compliment or direct ones either.

"Even so, how do we get in there without making a scene?" Breaker asked, momentarily forgetting the sailor from before.

"We find a door and let you crack the code, that is what you were brought along for—is it not?" Beachhead grinned behind his mask. "Unless someone has a better idea."

"Oi, what'cha doin' out afta dark mate?" a voice shouted somewhere behind them.

Breaker was the first to turn back, thinking perhaps the sailor had come up behind them without warning. On the street the bearded sailor was bathed in headlights from another Humvee, this one however was driven by a blonde man with large framed glasses and a torn yellow shirt.

"You knows the law, da Major don't want anyone out after lights out." Leaning out of the turret atop the vehicle was a burly man with a beard and red bandanna, also speaking in an accent.

"Eh, sorry about that fellas," the sailor chuckled and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Thought that the fish'd be biting a bit more after sunset. I guess you got me this time."

"It's ol' Shipwreck it is!" a third man offered from inside the vehicle. This man too had a beard, flattop hair style and reflective glasses. "Poor bastard ain't got no luck it seems, let'm go mate. He ain't worth the trouble." this elicited laughter from the three men before driving off.

The man called Shipwreck kicked the ground at his feet and kept walking. It was clear that he wasn't very friendly toward the men in the Humvee, perhaps he wasn't too friendly with the people in charge of the city either. Before Beachhead could say anything, Breaker was moving away from the group and moving down the street toward Shipwreck.

"Hey there fella," Breaker borrowed the term hoping it'd make talking with the man easier. Shipwreck turned around, looked him up and down before starting off again in the opposite direction. Not one to give up, Breaker continued after him. "Is it all right if I ask you a question, Mr. uh..."

"The name's Delgado, Hector Delgado and don't call me Mr. anything." Shipwreck responded gruffly. "I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here, but I'd suggest you forget it and get out of town before those jokers come back through."

"Same team pal, or don't the chevrons on your sleeve mean anything." Breaker asked. "You're a Chief, right?" That seemed to get Shipwreck to pause in his step and glance back over his shoulder for a moment.

"Was a Chief, Uncle Sam decided I wasn't up to his standards and cut me loose. What's it to ya?" Shipwreck stopped and leaned his rod up against a nearby wall. He fixed Breaker with a cocky stare and grin.

"You know as well as I do service is a commitment that outlasts even service," Breaker said. "I'm not going to stand here and try to feed you a bunch of garbage man, but we've got a coupla folks that could really use some help. I know what assuming does, but even if you're not still in I imagine the fact that you're still wearing those dungarees accounts for something."

"I don't think so," Shipwreck said. "But how about this, you and those other people I saw you with can come back with me to my place so we can get you off the street. It may not look like it, but the Major has this place under constant patrol and those goons you just saw aren't the worst of it."

"I appreciate the offer, but we're under a bit of a time crunch here." Breaker said.

"I know how you feel buddy, really I do. Seals don't play around when there's a deadline to be watched, but I think you'd better reconsider the offer." Shipwreck nodded his head in the direction of oncoming headlights again. Reluctantly, Breaker waved for the others to follow after him and Shipwreck.


	22. Chapter 21:

Chapter Twenty One

Location: Springfield, USA.

Snake entered the cell, resisting the urge to turn back around and pummel the two guards behind him. They'd been less than friendly after retrieving him from the arena. Perhaps they were just as afraid as the Major seemed after he'd finished off the combatants. He looked angrily at the floor. Violence was never a good thing, even if violence was his life. Those men had less choice than he did being in that fight, he knew from the look in their eyes that they were no longer in control of their own actions. Brainwashing was no way to get a man to fight a battle for you. Give a man a reason, a just cause that he could stand behind and then let him go to battle; at least then his death would not have been in vain.

"Good to see you again, Snake." Stalker glanced up from the floor. Scarlett was seated beside him, head resting on her knees. Snake hoped that the trance had helped her regain some of that cool edge he'd seen back at Wadsworth. She'd need her cunning and her strength if they were going to find some way out of this mess.

"What happened out there?" Scarlett asked.

_They made me fight some of their men_, Snake signed. There wasn't any good reason to tell her about the brainwashing. Not now at least. He sat on the floor in front of Scarlett, she reminded him so much of his sister, perhaps more now than ever.

"If I know Flagg," Stalker moved in closer to Snake and Scarlett, "he's organizing a rescue. What worries me is that they won't know what is waiting for them when they get here."

"There isn't any way that we warn them either," Scarlett said. "Which means we may have to find some way to make an opening for them on our end."

"I'm all for an escape attempt girl, but how would we attempt to pull it off?" Stalker asked. "They've got one of those Vipers walking by every five minutes to poke their head in, and with no wall it's going to be hard to pull the empty cell gag."

Scarlett pushed herself off of the floor and back on her feet. This was going to be an interesting feat indeed. They were surrounded on three sides by solid walls, and the fourth wall was a series of prison bars. She was confident that Snake could bend the bars, but that would prove pointless because the guard would be back before they could get the bars apart enough to get away. Stalker had a point that the empty sell or missing prisoner trick wouldn't work because of the open bars and all out cliché of the practice. Picking the lock would be easy enough, if it were a simple key lock but they were back to the issue of the patrolling guard. She tapped her chin and paced about as the Viper passed by once again.

"Don't tell me that you're scared now, Major." Zartan laughed, dropping himself down in Bludd's chair and propping his feet up on the desk. He wore a grin as Bludd paced about the office, ranting about the arena fight. The fact that the prisoner had stopped and glared up at him made him nervous. It was meant as a threat, and if a man made that kind of gesture—especially under as much security as he is now—he would find some way to act upon it.

"Then tell me what a mighty mercenary like you would do in this situation Zartan!" Bludd stopped pacing and glared at the loud mouthed mercenary in his seat. It was times like this that he seriously questioned why he kept the vagabond around now that Springfield was operational. There were perks to having an infiltration and spying specialist in a town full of non-combatants threatened into doing your bidding, but the man's ego expanded well beyond the city limits.

"Absolutely nothin'," Zartan replied. "It's a scare tactic. You know that, and I know that. You've got guards on the cell, he and the others are unarmed and you have a hundred Vipers at your call. If they so much as wink at each other you could sound the alarm and they'd be dead in seconds. I ask you Major, what is there to worry about?"

"Welcome aboard mateys!" Shipwreck jiggled the door handle and pushed in. The door opened to a dark room. What little light seeped in from outside revealed the place to be spartan in furnishings. There was a table by the window, two chairs and some poker chips stacked in neat piles. Lying on the floor was a crushed can of grape soda and some empty pizza boxes near the back wall. "The place ain't ship shape, but then I wasn't expecting company tonight either."

After everyone was inside, Shipwreck closed and locked the door. At the center of the room was a dangling chord which turned on the inside light, and there was little revealed under full lighting that hadn't been seen already. He leaned against the table near the window and looked back at Breaker.

"So, tell me again about these folks that need my help."

"Hold it Breaker," Beachhead stepped up, "how are we sure you can be trusted?"

"You can't," Shipwreck smirked, "but seeing how this old sea dog hasn't turned you in just yet should say something. Besides, a gentlemen should never refuse the request of a beautiful lady. Especially one so endowed with Desert Eagles."

Cover Girl rolled her eyes. "So can you help us or not?"

"If you're here for that lot the Vipers brought in before, they're being held inside the Terrordrome." Shipwreck motioned outside with his thumb. "That thing that used to be the Springfield Sports Arena."

"How are we gonna get inside that thing?" Roadblock asked, punching his fists together. "Grab one of those Viper guys and say please?"

"Good luck with that," Shipwreck said. "You'd have better luck waltzing up to the front door and asking them to 'take me to your leader'. There's only one way in I can think of that doesn't involve getting captured."

"I shudder to think." Cover Girl said.

"We go in through the sewer system." Shipwreck said. "That's the one thing that they haven't changed around town, near as I can tell. There were several places inside the arena with man sized sewer hatches."

"Excellent, then lead the way Shipwreck." Beachhead motioned toward the door, before they could reach the door however the room was filled with bright light and shouts could be heard from outside.

"We've got company!" Roadblock shouted, turning back away from the window. "Those three in the Humvee are back again."

"Oi, Shipwreck we told you ya shouldna been out afta dark." the one with the red bandanna shouted.

"Not those three again," Shipwreck groaned. "They're Bludd's personal goon squad. There's an exit in back, through the kitchen. You'd better hurry."

"What about the entrance?" Cover Girl asked.

"Once outside go down about a block, you'll see a manhole. Once inside you'll see a series of piping that split off in all directions. There's a big yellow one, 'bout eighteen inches in diameter. Follow that to the left until it ends. Then you'll see another pipe of similar size, it'll be green. It'll come from the same place, but will continue going in the same direction you were heading. Unless I'm wrong that should lead you up into the street just behind the freight entrance of the Terrordrome." Shipwreck reached for the door, Cover Girl stopped him and kissed him on the cheek.

"If we meet again, I'll make you earn the next one."

Shipwreck walked outside as the others kept low and exited through the back as promised. The Australian voices could be head berating Shipwreck before forcing him into the Humvee. Cover Girl heard the vehicle pull away as she climbed down into the sewer. She vowed to herself that when she saw that man again, she'd ask why everyone called him Shipwreck.


	23. Chapter 22:

Author's Note: Well, it took much longer than I had planned to get some new content up. I ended up picking up a lot of extra hours at work when I wasn't expecting them and some other stuff in life got in the way. Each time I tried to sit down and work on chapter 19 (I stopped as the others were going to Ace's room) I kept getting drawn away from it. Then, just a couple nights ago I had a chance to sit down after work and just write. I ignored the world for about four hours and ended up getting chapters 19 - 22 finished up and ready to post. So, here they all are to hopefully appease my loyal-and quite patient-readers.

* * *

><p>Chapter Twenty Two<p>

Location: Springfield, USA.

Stalker looked up in time to see two Vipers enter the hall. He elbowed Snake to get the man's attention. They came around the corner, flanking a young child between them. His hands were cuffed and his chin high in the air. Stalker could only assume the kid was out causing trouble and Bludd was having him arrested because of it. The Vipers stopped outside the cell and opened it long enough to shove the boy inside before locking it back in place.

"I want my mother you bastards!" the kid shouted. The Vipers paid him no mind and left the hall.

"Hey kid, what'd they get you for?" Stalker asked, making light conversation.

"Stabbing the Major," he said. "He kidnapped my mother and is holding her against her will. He tried to hurt me, but I got to him first. That eye wasn't doing him much good anyway..."

Snake looked the kid over and then waved his hand in a kind-of-sorta fashion for Stalker to see. It was a signal, telling the Sergeant to be cautious what to say around the boy. Neither man had any doubt that the boy would stand up to Bludd, or that the man would throw a child in prison. However, after what Snake had seen in the arena who was to say that brainwashing a kid into a spy was below the likes of Bludd.

"Maybe we can be friends, we don't like him that much either." Stalker said.

"A lot of good you'd do me, you guys got show down before you even made it into the city." Stalker wanted to punch the kid for that. It was the truth, sure, but he didn't have to sound so snobbish about it.

"We were caught by surprise," Scarlett said. "As I'm sure you were, when he first came to town."

"Yeah, maybe." the kid looked Scarlett up and down. "He came in, guns blazing. Shot my mom's boss, though that guy was a creep anyway. He probably deserved it."

"What's your name?" she asked. "I can't keep calling you kid all night, can I?"

"The name's Billy, though I don't think it'd do either of us much good. Mom's still being held, and now we're all in a cell. Not much we can do for that, I think these guys have seen ever prison break scene in the book."

"Well Billy, what can you tell us about this place?" Scarlett asked. "Maybe we can figure something out that will help us all at once. We may even be able to do something about your mom."

"You promise?"

Scarlett looked back to Stalker who nodded. She hadn't known the man long, but from what she did know of him he wasn't going to let Billy down if he promised. "Yeah, we promise."

"You gave me your promise mate that I'd not have any trouble out of you," Bludd said. He leaned forward, folding his hands together on his desk. Shipwreck was standing before him, Zartan's flunkies on all sides of him. The man didn't look broken anymore. When the Dreadnocks first dragged the washed up sailor before him, he'd been a lost soul far from the type to cause trouble. Ever since those prisoners arrived however, he'd been caught out in the streets after dark supposedly fishing.

"Yeah, I remember. What kind of trouble you suspect I'm causing by fishing?" Shipwreck asked. "If you're starting a catch and release policy, I'll be glad to sign on the line that I'll throw'm back in. Scout's honor."

Bludd slammed his fist down onto the desk. "You're not funny, mate."

"Funny, I remember a bunch of other guys saying that before cutting me loose a couple years back. I'll bet that those guys could have used some good humor after that, ice cream or otherwise. The team never did have a sense of humor..."

"Get him out of here," Bludd snarled. "Just throw him in with the other prisoners. If he starts something, shot the lot of them. I think they've about out lived their usefulness now."

"Hey now, don't you think that this is a bit overboard even for fishing without a license?" Shipwreck fired back. "I have half a mind to report you bucko." One of the Dreadnocks punched the sailor in his stomach and he slumped over, thankfully quiet.

Roadblock pushed the manhole open overhead and slid it aside. He poked his head out and glanced around. They were just where Shipwreck had told them they'd be. Over to his left several large metal shutter doors were deployed with semi-trailers parked before them. He climbed out of the manhole and assisted Cover Girl as she pulled herself to the surface. Breaker was next and Beachhead brought up the rear of the pack.

"Now what?" Roadblock asked, looking around at the trailers and doors. Beside each of the metal doors was a small keypad and digital monitor. Breaker clapped his hands and started rubbing them together like an excited child.

"I've got this," Breaker said. "I'll have the door cracked in a matter of moments and we'll get inside that way, though I'm not sure how we'll find the others once we get in."

"You just get us in soldier, we'll do the rest." Beachhead responded.

Breaker ran over to the platform and hoisted himself off of the ground. He checked to ensure that no one else was coming and moved up to the door. From his pocket he pulled out a small PDA device, which he connected to an odd looking computer cable that he also connected to the door panel. While he typed a series of keys the others found a loading ramp and easily walked up to meet him. On the PDA screen number after number flashed by in a countdown until ultimately a five digit locking code was revealed. Breaker keyed the numbers in, and the metal door retracted upwards to grant them access.

"Allons-y!" Breaker said, moving inside with the others following right behind.


End file.
